Diverging Paths
by Ciceronis
Summary: Sequel to "In the Madhouse".  After escaping the asylum, Azula faces a dangerous journey and uncertain future.  Meanwhile, Zuko struggles to fulfill his new role as Firelord.
1. A Troubling Start

**Greetings. To anyone who read my earlier story: thanks for sticking with me and giving this one a chance. It will be very different from the other one, but hopefully you won't be disappointed. For everyone who didn't read "In the Madhouse": it's probably not necessary that you read it. However, it might be helpful if you did. This is a sequel, after all. **

**Also, here's a note for any history buffs out there. The plot of this story required that I do some thinking about the Fire Nation, its history, people, politics, etc. I realize that it would have been best if I took my inspiration from the cultures of East Asia. I don't know much about that part of the world, though, and I don't have time to do a lot of research. Since I'm a classicist by trade, I looked to the one imperial culture that I do know well: ancient Rome. Any resemblances to people and events of the late Republic/early principate are not strictly coincidental. **

* * *

><p>Chapter 1 – A Troubling Start<p>

For the first time in her life, the sun hurt her.

Azula tried to open her eyes again, and once again shut them tight against the pain. Why did the sun hurt her eyes? And why was she so surprised? What was wrong with this…this…

The question slipped away, along with conscious thought. When her faltering brain finally produced an answer, Azula didn't realize there had been a lapse. The sun hurt her eyes because she hadn't seen it in…What had Innocent said? Eight months?

Innocent. No, _Shin_. Memory struck with concussive force. Azula gasped, flailed in panic. Where was she? Before she could sort it out, Azula had another, more disturbing revelation. The pain surprised her because…because she had never before woken to the blazing, mid-morning sun. She had missed the dawn.

Pain be damned. She opened her eyes, lifted her arm despite protesting muscles, and willed the fire.

Nothing.

She didn't lower her arm or head: they fell. A deep and insistent languor spread over her entire body, an overpowering compulsion to sleep and heal. That was unacceptable in the current crisis, so Azula gathered her forces, and rolled herself over all at once.

The momentous effort pulled a war cry from somewhere down deep, wherever desperate heaves came from. The maneuver was worth it though, because it finally shook off the last of the grogginess.

Azula did a brief self-survey and concluded that she didn't feel good. In fact, she felt really, really bad. She felt terrible. She felt as if she had just fought her way out of a fortress full of homicidal maniacs with nothing but her naked body and a crowbar. But it could be worse. By some Agni-sent miracle, she didn't seem to have any broken bones.

As she half-crawled, half-slithered towards a nearby stream, Azula revised her estimate. She thought she might have some cracked ribs on her left side, and maybe two of her toes were broken.

The "stream" was really a muddy little trickle. _Drainage from the road_. That's right: the road was behind her, up an incline. Had she stumbled down here on purpose, or had she fallen? The memory of her midnight flight was jumbled and nightmarish. It seemed like she ran for hours, but in truth she probably hadn't made it far. Exhaustion and injuries and delayed horror had slowed her, eventually dragging her down completely.

Azula paused before drinking and took a deep breath: if she passed out now, she would drown face-down in an inch of sludge. Then she lowered her head and slurped greedily at the cloudy liquid. _Disgusting_, she thought, even as she gulped more and more. As soon as she got to civilization, she would buy-

The money!

Oh my god, where had it gone? Azula scrabbled back over the slick, rain-soaked ground, looking for the purse Shin had given her. What if she had lost it somewhere on the road? No. Here it was, right where she woke up.

Azula cradled all her worldly wealth to her chest and considered her situation. The trees told her that she was in the Earth Kingdom: the steaming jungles of the Fire Nation never had such gentle, temperate vegetation. The colonies, then, probably somewhere towards the north. At least she wouldn't have to hijack a ship, or play stowaway. Unlike the Fire Islands, there was plenty of space in the Earth Kingdom to disappear into.

That was small consolation, and so was her pouch of small change. She was stranded only-the-spirits-knew where, on a continent full of hostile peoples. Her brother, the so-called Firelord, would turn the full might of the military machine against her. If pursuers weren't already on her trail, they would be soon – perhaps with orders to kill. But this desperate fugitive had no family, no friends, no firebending, and very little money. She didn't even have a plan. All she had were untreated injuries and a history of mental problems.

_You're not in your cell_. _That's all that matters_. She should get up and go, but Azula basked in the sunshine instead. She couldn't help it. After a quick, reflexive look around, to make sure nobody was watching, she lay back down. Then she rubbed herself wantonly all over the rough, warm earth, as if it could erase the memory of smooth, cold metal. She wallowed and reveled in the muck like some grubby dirtbender. She even buried her face in it, so she could smell the living things and kiss the free soil.

Her small joy and pathetic comfort were short-lived. When she turned onto her back, she lifted her eyes to the beautiful blue sky…and froze. A tiny, soundless sigh escaped her lips.

There, high above the trees, slipping silently and ominously through the cheerful summer breezes, was an imperial war balloon.

.o0o.

Zuko was acting in a way unbecoming the Firelord. His father would have told him that true men didn't run away from unpleasant tasks, and that kings ran to meet them. Azula wouldn't have said a thing – just shamed him with her own perfect composure. Mai would have pointed out that he was betraying too much emotion.

They would all be right, but at the moment Zuko didn't care. His balloon had touched down into a frenzied chaos that still hadn't ended. His men were currently helping the other soldiers with their bloody task. Apparently some of the mental patients refused – violently and tenaciously – to submit to armed authorities: they had to be cleared out hall-by-hall, room-by-room.

Now the Firelord was sitting at a desk and fidgeting, playing with a writing brush so he wouldn't have to look anyone in the face. A considerate officer had told Zuko, gently and quietly, that they would look for the princess – meaning, of course, that they would search for her remains. The man's tact was wasted. They wouldn't find her, Zuko had no doubts. She was long gone and laughing at him.

They were still bothering him with their reports. He let the talk wash over him: Zuko didn't need to hear the sordid details. Even the surprising presence of hardened criminals was a minor detail, a mystery not worth solving. To him, the source and means of their mass rampage seemed clear enough.

Death. Pain. Destruction. Waste. And all because of her. That's all he needed to know.

Her. The Princess. The daughter of Ozai. His sister, Azula. Zuko let himself feel the full force of his guilt and shame: his own stupid idealism had allowed her to do this. Instead of locking her safely away in some dungeon, where she belonged, he had foolishly hoped that she could see the error of her ways and repent. Now the lives she wrecked were on his conscience too.

She had tried to kill him and his friends, had imprisoned his girlfriend, had plotted genocide with a tyrant, and aspired to be a tyrant in her turn. For all that, Zuko was surprised at what he found here.

He remembered her girly aversion to gore and grime and mess, which she always tried to hide. He thought of her fierce, straight-backed pride and determination, and how he still envied her cool precision. At her peak, Azula had seemed like a living vessel of potential energy, of raw power focused and channeled by intellect, always controlled and waiting, mastered and calculating.

Yes. Despite everything, Zuko was shocked. He was shocked at this gleeful and senseless butchery, where there was no prize or advantage to be had.

_Azula always lies_, he reminded himself. _Everything about her was always a lie_. The professionalism and cold competence were just a mask for her sickness. He had no reason to envy a freak, no matter how skilled and dangerous.

From her very earliest days, Azula had proved how unnatural she was. She had tormented her only sibling, and held him back in any way she could. She had scorned her own mother, and her relationship with their father was just bizarre. If she seemed invulnerable, it wasn't anything to admire. She simply lacked human feeling.

Zuko did feel, and that's why he had made so many mistakes about her. It wasn't all softness and stupidity. It was perfectly right for a good person to look for the best in his own family.

Well, there would be no more mistakes. It had taken him too long to overcome his own blindness. His only excuse was that habit made anything seem normal. After years of rubbing shoulders with a lunatic at the breakfast table, he supposed he had just gotten used to her.

A nearby soldier finally said something that caught his attention. Zuko forgot about his sister for a whole second and jerked his head up. "Did you say-"

Before he could finish, the man himself walked into the room. Zuko had heard correctly: it was none other than the great admiral, head of the ancient house of the Aomori, master of the East Marches, the leader and the best of those brilliant eastern warriors.

Zuko almost stood up and bowed. In his childhood it would have been expected. This noble lord could command respect even from a royal prince. He caught himself, but not before he rose out of his chair just enough to be noticed. That should have annoyed him. And it should have annoyed him when one of his subjects sat down in the Firelord's presence without asking.

Zuko didn't even notice. He was too fascinated . The man across from him looked to be in his mid- to late-thirties, dark-haired like most Fire Nationals, but golden-hued and green-eyed. The East Marches were those islands closest to the Earth Kingdom. The locals had intermarried with Earth peoples for centuries, and looked it. Since Sozin's war had sparked a frenzy of bigotry and xenophobia, most people thought it was disgraceful to have Earth blood. But if the Easterlings cared about what others said, they never showed it. And nobody ever dared ask them to their faces.

Before the days of great iron battle cruisers, little wooden ships had hugged the coastlines and rarely ventured out into the open sea. That meant that invading warlords and marauding pirates had naturally landed on the eastern islands, and tried to force their way through to the heart of the Fire Nation. But the sons of those forbidding shores had single-handedly thrown off the enemy again and again.

The East Marches were the home of legends and heroes, and here was its greatest child. He was the finest military mind of his generation, and a rival to Iroh himself. His exploits were the stuff of epic. Zuko had been taught to look up to him: he was a paragon of Fire Nation manhood, a model for everything a boy should want to be.

"Do you like what you see?"

Zuko jumped. _Shit_. _I was staring_. "I..uh-"

The admiral flashed his justly famous smile. It transformed his face, which went from _outrageously handsome_ to _irresistibly attractive_. "I believe it's customary to exchange greetings."

"Of course. I'm sorry." _Shit_. _Should I be apologizing_? Zuko rose and extended his hand. Too late, he remembered the admiral's deformity. Feeling a little confused and embarrassed, he stuck out his other hand – only to realize that he was still holding the writing brush. Flushing up to the roots of his hair, Zuko put it down and tried again.

To his surprise and pleasure, the older man didn't shake his hand, but grasped his forearm. It was a gesture of fellowship and respect from one warrior to another. His next words made Zuko flush again, this time for a different reason.

"It's an honor to finally meet you. It's not every day that I speak with someone more famous than myself."

"More famous? Hardly, and certainly not better. _I'm_ honored to meet _you_. We did meet before, but-"

"But you still had your boyhood knot. I think I remember. You do yourself an injustice, though. Your story has spread throughout the world: the boy-king who defied a tyrant and brought peace to millions. It's impressive and inspiring."

_That's right_. Zuko was the Firelord, and he had ushered in a new era. The admiral had made his reputation in an unjust war. Now his heroics were obsolete. There was no reason for Zuko to be awed or intimidated.

That's what he told himself anyway. But, as he scrambled for something to say, Zuko realized that there was a difference between knowing it and believing it.

_Tell me about the Battle for Strongwind Bay._

_So, you challenged Firelord Azulon to an Agni Kai?_

_Is it true that you beat a giant in a boxing match? naked? after drinking six flagons of wine?_

_How did you steal Lord Saito's spy list? I heard that you disguised yourself as a woman and seduced him._

_Have you really bedded three sets of triplets?_

"I…uh-"

"I'm sure you're wondering why I'm taking up your time. I wouldn't dream of it if I didn't think I could serve you." The admiral narrowed his gaze, and Zuko suddenly felt uncomfortable. "You're sister was here, wasn't she?"

"How-"

"The guards sent out several messenger hawks, asking for help. We were close by and intercepted one of them. My provincial command just ended, you know, and I'm traveling home. I rush here to the rescue…and who do I find but the Firelord? I think there are only two people who could bring you out to this backwater hole, and everyone knows that Ozai is rotting in the Tower.

"This leaves you with a problem. We both know that Azula wouldn't role over and die so easily. She's out there somewhere, but how are you going to find her? An army would be too slow, and you could hardly march one into the Earth Kingdom even if you wanted to."

"You're right. I've already thought of that."

"You need a small, fast, inconspicuous group. But you can't do it yourself, can you?"

"No. They started sending me messages from the capital almost as soon as I left. I have to get back tonight."

"I don't want to boast, but my men have an excellent reputation."

"Of course. They're the best. Everyone knows that."

"I myself am a naval commander, but I'm considered something of a specialist in amphibious assaults. I've had plenty of experience on land."

"True."

"And my family is well-connected in both the colonies and the Earth Kingdom. We have properties here, and extensive business interests. If I am recognized, no one would question my presence in the area. You want to keep this secret, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. I'm the man for the job. I thought you might ask me anyway, so I decided to save you the trouble and present myself."

"It did occur to me," Zuko lied, "but are you sure you want to? I know you're overdue for a furlough, and you've earned the right to decline."

"I consider it my duty, and a pleasure as well. The Princess and I worked together on several occasions, but I wouldn't count her as a friend."

"I should think not."

Again came the searching look. "You've heard the story, then?"

"I know what she did to you. She's always hurting people. I wouldn't expect anybody to like her." Zuko was starting to feel oppressed again. _Oh Azula_… "I mean, just look at what she did here."

"It is off-putting, isn't it? Will I have the honor of bringing the offender to justice?"

"It's yours, since you want it. You've relieved my mind, and I thank you."

"No, thank _you_."

The admiral stood up and bowed to him. The Firelord felt an undignified little thrill at the gesture and its meaning.

"By the way, my uncle and I are eating before we leave. The last I saw, he was talking to some guards, but I'm sure he wouldn't want to miss you. Will you dine with us?"

"It would be my pleasure." He hesitated. "Before I go, I do need to know two things. Is it true that the Princess can't firebend?"

"It is."

"You're sure?"

"Oh yes."

"Good. That will make my job easier. And when I do find her…?"

Zuko realized what he was getting at. "I-"

The words stuck in his throat, but then Zuko thought of her latest victims. The corpses, the traumatized soldiers, the huddled group of scared and confused mental patients, looking at him with haunted eyes. One girl hadn't looked at anybody. She had simply hidden her face and rocked – on and on and on – afraid to risk even the slightest human contact. All that misery, just so Azula could send him a message.

It would never stop. Azula was no good: no good for anybody, no good even for herself. She was also a danger to the throne, and thus to the entire nation. He was the Firelord now, and it was his job to protect his people – no matter what the personal cost, no matter how hard or ruthless the decision.

When he spoke, Zuko felt a touch of pride. His voice didn't shake at all.

"Of course I prefer that you bring her in alive. But if you can't… If you can't, then I understand."

.o0o.

The admiral strode into his tent, the humble dwelling that he used when traveling. It was currently set up near the mysterious fortress which had housed the Princess Azula.

He spread out his arms, and a servant promptly took his cloak. Another servant placed a jeweled goblet in his hand. He drained the contents in one gulp, then held it out for more wine. Only then did he speak.

"I need to change. I'll be eating with the Firelord."

Someone threw himself down to the marble floor and crouched on all fours. The admiral set his booted foot on the boy's back, so his other page could unlace it.

"Well, Old Man, what did you learn? What the hell _is_ this place?"

The "old man" was leaning against a tastefully fluted column. Lao had been with his lordship since that noble scion's birth, and had served him in whatever role he required: nurse, bodyguard, mentor, trusted adviser, best friend, and second-in-command.

"It's a hospital-" the admiral choked on his drink "-for the mentally unbalanced."

"I've never seen a hospital with such impressive fortifications. Or so many locked cells." He raised his arms, allowing the attendants to lift off his corselet.

"It gets better. This project was approved and funded by none other than General Huang."

Now a servant was undoing his lordship's neck cloth. "Huang the humanitarian? Hardly. What exactly were they really doing at this so-called hospital?"

"That I don't know. It's all very secretive, and the people who work here don't want to talk."

The admiral was now completely stripped. His man was standing by with a bucket, but he didn't immediately take it. As he always did at this point, he stood for a moment, proud and challenging in his exposed body. Even naked he completely dominated his surroundings. The people watching were _his_ people, _his_ entourage. They were no more noticeable in his presence than the tiny insects flitting around a bright light. And like bugs to a light, or compass needles to the north star, these lesser humans were drawn to him, finding in him a new center for their universe.

His self-satisfied exhibition was completely unconscious. If he ever thought about it, he would have said that he hated to deprive others of a good view.

His lordship finally took the bucket and dumped the icy water over his head. As he toweled off, he continued, "I suppose they don't want to talk about their collection of criminal lunatics, either. "

"They especially don't want to talk about that."

He tossed the towel aside, and his devoted lackeys rushed to dress their master for dinner. "The Firelord seems to think that his sister is responsible for this mess. You remember the Princess."

"It would be hard to forget."

"You saw what it was like in there: it's worse than the sack of Hangzhou. Does that seem like Azula's style to you?"

"Not at all."

"Precisely. Mysteries on mysteries."

"Speaking of the Princess, how did your audience with the Firelord go?"

"Wonderfully. Our glorious young leader is terribly insecure. I dropped a few compliments, and he was falling all over himself to agree with me."

"He's lost some of his swagger, I'm sure. Things aren't going well for him, by all accounts. So we're going after the Princess? Alone?"

"We are."

An anxious young man interrupted. "Sir, your valet has noticed a spot on your boots and begs your leave to clean them. I know it will delay you, but he says that he'll kill himself if you shame him by seeing the Firelord in dirty boots."

The admiral looked amused. "I would never interfere with Jeong's art. I'll wait." He dropped himself onto a nearby couch and sprawled over the gold-gilt silk.

At that moment, an exquisite young woman emerged from a different room, resplendent in a shimmering gown shot with pearls. It was the admiral's latest gift to her. She knelt elegantly to his side and rested her head on his knee. "May I pleasure My Lord?"

He reached out absently and stroked her sleek hair. "Later. I'm in a hurry right now. I'm going to dine with the Firelord."

She pouted. "_You_ should be Firelord."

He looked at her more closely. "How much am I paying you?"

She told him.

"That's not enough. I'll double it."

"He must really hate her."

The admiral glanced at his troubled lieutenant and raised his eyebrows.

"Zuko," Lao clarified. "He must really hate his sister."

The great commander smiled. "What? You wouldn't send me to fetch your sister?"

"I wouldn't send you after anyone's sister. Or their wife, daughter, mother, cousin, niece, granny, or great aunt."

"Granny and great aunt? You wound me. I would never take advantage of someone old and ugly."

"Seriously, though. Why is he doing this? Does he expect you to kill her?"

"I don't know. Probably. His signals were a little confused."

"And he trusts you? Doesn't he realize-"

"Actually, I don't believe he does."

Lao's lip curled contemptuously. "He's stupid."

"I couldn't say yet. But he's definitely naïve, and he doesn't see clearly where his sister is concerned. He knows that she's a threat, but he doesn't understand the real danger. It's never occurred to him to think about her that way."

"He's stupid."

"We'll see. One thing at a time, though. Send someone to pick up her trail, but tell him not to engage. She's too dangerous for one man. The rest of us will have to catch up in a day or two: there are things to be learned here before we go.

"Then we'll hunt." Admiral Shen gazed down at his wooden limb. "That little slut owes me a hand. And then some."


	2. Master of Disguise

**Hello, all! I hope everyone is finding a way to cope with the summer heat. As always, I apologize for posting delays – although this one is up pretty quickly for me, especially considering how long it is. Thank you to anyone who left a review on the last chapter; some of them were very thoughtful, and it's much appreciated.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 2 – Master of Disguise<p>

"Lady Killer…the Fifteenth, I think. Hangman Jinn. Sir Rapes-A-Lot. Don't know – this one's face is mangled. The Prophet. Cutter. Little Bone Saw Boy…

The prisoner's voice droned on as he walked down the line of corpses, naming bodies for the soldiers hovering at his elbow. Later they would search through the facility records, matching the macabre nicknames to real-world identities.

Shen was standing nearby with a stolid, middle-aged army major, who had the unenviable task of cleaning up and investigating the facility. Both men were standing with their arms crossed over their chests, looking bored.

"What colorful names they do have."

Major Cho was unimpressed. "They're a colorful bunch. One of the live ones tried to bite me a few minutes ago."

"There's still no sign of the Princess?"

The Major shook his head. "None."

"What do the local lads have to say? What was going on here? And what does Azula have to do with it?"

"We can't talk to the commanding officer: he's been critically injured. The rest of them aren't being helpful. When they do talk, they all tell a different story. Some things they won't talk about at all – like the Princess. They say they want General Huang to come speak for them." Cho spat on the ground contemptuously. "Covering their asses, all of them."

Once Cho started to talk about his difficulties, he couldn't seem to stop. "What am I supposed to do with them? Re-assign them? Court martial them? Give them a fucking medal? I can't make a decision without information. Then there are the crazies. Who's going to take care of them? And what about this lot? They ought to be put down like rabid wolverine-dogs.

"They'll probably have to have a fair trial, or some bullshit like that." Cho's eyes turned a little misty with nostalgia. "In the old days, I could have executed them at my own discretion. Military authority on military property. The way it should be."

Shen decided to interrupt, before the Major could tell him more about the good old days. "Are there records?"

"Stacks of them. I already have someone looking at the records on the upper level. They all seem clean, but there are more down in the pit. _Those_ are the one I wonder about." He heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose I'll have to go through them myself. It will take days. Maybe a couple of weeks."

"Actually, I was wondering if I could do it for you."

Cho looked like a man who had been given a second chance at life and couldn't quite believe it. "Well, I've never really liked paper work…"

"Who does? But I have to see Azula's record anyway. And I can probably do it faster than you could." Shen flashed his dazzling smile. "I'm notoriously fast. Ask any woman."

"Sir, you and your men have been very helpful." Major Cho bowed to him, although an army officer didn't owe it to a naval commander.

Shen inclined his head but didn't bow back. He had been receiving deference from commoners his entire life. It was his due.

Not much later he sat at the desk of the late Doctor Soong. A jug of whiskey and one of water stood at his elbow. He sipped some whiskey and eyed the towering banks of shelves, each stuffed full of scrolls. They covered all four walls, and there were more standing in the middle of the room. Shen closed his eyes for a full ten minutes, sitting perfectly still as he centered himself. Then he went to work.

For hours he worked, as the sun and moon turned their courses outside. In the twilit office, however, there was nothing that betrayed the wear and tear of time – certainly not the person inside. Shen read the dense, bureaucratic characters with astonishing speed. He wrote his own notes with a swift, sure hand. He sorted every scroll promptly and without hesitation. His movements were the quick, unceasing motions of a man in a hurry. For all those hours and despite the tremendous strain, Shen never stopped or slowed or thought of anything but his task.

Finally, a little more than a day after he started, Shen finished. With a groan he slumped in his chair and loosened his neck cloth. After a long, satisfying piss into a nearby trashcan, he opened the door and spoke to the man posted outside.

"Go get Lao and Huy. And some water." He started to close the door but thought again. "And more whiskey."

Shen drank his whiskey before he spoke. Lao and Huy waited patiently while their master collected his thoughts and rubbed blood-shot eyes. At last he straightened. "Huy."

"Yes, My Lord?"

"You were at the Horn with me, weren't you? I think we may have had a mutual acquaintance here."

Huy leaned over to look at the name Shen was pointing at. His nose immediately wrinkled in disgust. "_Him_? He was here? That could explain a lot."

"I think so. And like our glorious Princess, I don't believe he just rolled over and died so easily. Do you remember what he looks like?"

"Unfortunately."

"I want you to find him. He's clever and has a good head start. It might take you a while."

"Should I kill him, or bring him in?"

"I want him alive." Shen hesitated. "As for capturing him – use your judgment. He could be a problem. Unless you have the perfect opportunity, just send for me."

"Yes, My Lord. I won't fail you." Huy snapped off a salute before leaving the room.

Shen pointed at a stack of papers and spoke to Lao. "Burn those. The rest can go to Major Cho to do with as he sees fit."

He held up a scroll. "The records you're about to burn belong to the men listed here. We're going to round them up and take them home. Secretly."

"Wait. The prisoners - we're going to take them home? To the East Marches?"

"Only some of them. This is very important. Those men are worth more than their weight in gold, and we're going to save them up against a rainy day. Put Hitoshi on this. He'll have to be clever to slip them away from Cho."

As he picked up his notes and stood, Shen began to radiate smug satisfaction. "Won't Huang be angry that I've stolen a march on him. Bastard. I should sleep with his wife, too."

Lao, who knew about his master's rocky relationship with the general, still looked at him strangely. "Stolen a march on Huang? Are you going to explain any of this?"

"I will, but first I have to report to Cho. He can execute the violent ones: they've already been condemned. I found the conviction papers. That should keep him happy – and keep him from asking too many questions."

"And the Princess? What did she have to do with this?"

A strange expression crossed Shen's face, vanishing just as abruptly as it had come. For a moment Lao thought it was _grief_, but he quickly dismissed the idea as absurd.

"Nothing. Believe it or not, the mighty Azula was an innocent victim." The admiral's expression turned hard. "And Zuko is not the innocent dolt he pretends to be. A man who would do that to his own sister-"

Again came the odd look, again swiftly suppressed. When he continued, Shen seemed merely thoughtful.

"We'll have to step carefully, Old Man. I don't know what to expect from either of those two."

.o0o.

_No one_, thought Azula, _could have expected that I would come to this_.

Yesterday had been hard. Her joy at seeing the sun quickly evaporated under its brutal rays. She walked for hours through the summer heat, feeling parched but unable to quench her thirst: the muddy run-off from the road simply wasn't enough. Her body hurt her and so did her feet, which were bare. Soon an angry, red sunburn began to blister her light-deprived skin – just to make her even more miserable.

That night had been harder. When the sun went away the bugs came out. In desperation Azula finally rolled herself around in the muck, hoping that a thick coating of sludge would keep the pests off. And it did. For the most part.

But that wasn't as bad as the darkness. With night closing in, Azula found that she didn't like the open space so much anymore. In her cell at least she knew there were four solid walls between her and everything else. Now freedom meant a potential threat from any direction. Were there dangerous beasts in this forest?

She found a large tree just off the road and huddled between two large roots, her back pressed up firmly against the trunk. Then she watched as the light faded and the unknown closed in around her. Azula felt trapped. The small and slivery moon couldn't penetrate the dense canopy. If she tried to move, she would trip over an unseen obstacle.

And, as always, darkness brought _The Things_. Tonight there were new ones in their number: the men she had killed in the madhouse. They gambled and cavorted to a grotesque music, which sounded like the inmates, whispering lewd threats to her.

And, as always, her mother came. She crouched in front of Azula, her face intent and lips moving, like she was trying to say something important. Eventually she reached out to grasp Azula's shoulder-

Azula felt it! She jerked backwards as she shrieked, knocking her head painfully against the tree.

"No! Why are you doing this to me?"

She closed her eyes, covered her head, and counted to thirty. When she looked again, her mother was gone…leaving her alone with the rest of her demons.

Although it was warm and humid, Azula shivered through the entire night.

She must have fallen asleep at some point, because she woke up in the morning as stiff and sore as she had ever felt. After an agonizing struggle that lasted about an hour, Azula was finally mobile again. Luckily she found the town not far away.

Now she stared hard at the beaver-frog sitting on a nearby tree stump. _No one_, she thought again, bitterly, _would have expected this_.

"Hi!"

The beaver-frog stared back.

Azula tilted her head to the side and used her perkiest voice. "I'm Ty Lee! How are you!"

She resisted the urge to grind her teeth and tried to think of sunshine and rainbows and smiling baby faces. "You look really cute today! Do you think you could help me! I need some really cute clothes!"

Azula threw up a little in her mouth. Ty Lee, she decided, would not be the person she imitated. If she vomited, her cover would be blown.

"Being Ty Lee is degrading," she told the frog, "I'll try Mai instead. Hello."

The frog blinked. "You're right," Azula conceded, "not bland enough. How's this?"

"I don't care."

"Whatever."

"If it makes you happy."

For the next line in her imaginary conversation, "Mai" didn't say a thing. She just gazed expectantly through half-lidded eyes. She was composed. Bored. Contemptuous.

Azula remembered all the times that look had been directed at her. Suddenly tears pricked her eyes. _No_. _I don't want to think about that either_.

"I'll try Zuko," she announced. She wanted to act like a commoner, after all, and Zuko was the most common person she knew.

Azula deepened her voice a bit. "I need food and clothing. Show me your belongings."

"My name doesn't matter! Just give me what I want." Azula's fist clenched.

"I don't care if it's yours or how hard you worked for it. I said I want it." Now she was shaking, and a red haze was gathering at the edges of her vision.

"I'm going to fight you for it, and tell you why you're horrible and disgusting for standing in my way." The beaver-frog looked sympathetic to Zuko's cause, so she tried to vaporize it with her mind.

"I knew you would see it my way. Everyone does eventually. Next you have to betray my sister and defeat her for me."

Azula lost it. She grabbed a stick and raised it high above her head, screaming a war cry at the top of her lungs. The beaver-frog wisely jumped away just before the stick came swinging at its head.

"Fine! I don't need you or anyone else!" She stood glaring at the spot where the treacherous frog had been, breathing hard and trembling.

After a long time Azula finally wiped her eyes and walked away. She wouldn't copy anyone today, she decided. She would just play it by ear, and hope that her innate nobility didn't shine through among the peasants – like a fire-stone among dull, lumpy clods.

When the puny collection of hovels came back into view, Azula stopped and re-considered yet again. Perhaps she should wait until night and steal what she needed?

Yet again, memory dropped a bloody little heap at her feet.

_You're a Princess of the Line of Sozin, not some pathetic, lowlife street thug_.

She flinched reflexively. Her father was right, though. Azula was a princess. She stole kingdoms, lives, and loyalties – not peasant rags. A girl had to have her standards.

Azula took two more steps, then thought of something else. She untied her pouch and dumped the contents into her hand.

_So that's what they look like_. She had never held coins before. Members of the royal family never carried money on their persons, and they certainly didn't do anything so crass and vulgar as discussing prices. They took what they wanted, and various servants or officials later settled their debts. Even on the road Azula had been careful not to dirty her hands: Mai and Ty Lee bought everything they needed.

She looked curiously at the various shapes and sizes and metals. They weren't marked with anything except the stylized emblem of Agni's flame, their family insignia. How much was each worth? And how much would she have to pay for food and clothing? She did some quick calculations in her head, based on her most recent knowledge of the value of metals, the cost of their last state banquet, and the annual budget allotted to outfitting military personnel.

Azula frowned. Was that right? She stared uncertainly at her coins. Oh well. She would just have to hope for the best.

_Because the best just keeps happening_.

She ignored her own inner sarcasm, but couldn't ignore her growing nervousness. There would be people in this town: the only people she had seen for months who weren't prisoners or prison guards. Azula didn't know whether she wanted to meet them or not.

The village had no walls: she entered easily enough. It looked just like the dozens of small towns she had glimpsed over her travels. The houses could have been the same, the same dust, the same dull, unmemorable people.

It only took her a few minutes to walked through the entire thing. She couldn't find what she wanted, so she turned around and walked through again. And again. The whole time she was careful to stare back at the curious villagers.

Finally she admitted that she had to ask someone. Azula chose a group of men who seemed to have nothing better to do. They were all lounging or leaning on a porch. They looked like they had been there all morning, with no plans to move for the rest of the day.

She studied a nearby pig trough as she considered her next move. Eventually she sidled closer, trying to appear nonchalant. At last Azula glanced up, as if she just happened to notice them. They were all watching her.

Azula pitched her voice low. With her head shaved, she might pass as a boy. "I wish to procure clothing."

No one moved.

"The buildings in your town aren't adequately marked. You will direct me to the nearest facility where I might purchase clothing."

Silence.

"Perhaps you don't understand me. I'll be slow and simple. I-need-clothes." Azula pulled out her shirt a bit, to demonstrate. "I-give-money-" she shook her pouch, so they could hear the jingle of coins "-for-clothes. Where-do-I-go?"

Someone finally answered. It was the ancient patriarch seated in the very middle. "Who-are-you-stranger?" He paused and added, with obvious relish, "Until you furnish that information, we cannot comply with your request."

"I'm traveling to stay with my uncle, who said he would train me to be a partner in his business. I ran into some highwaymen down the road. They took the rest of my belongings, but I managed to get away with a little bit of money." Azula narrowed her eyes meaningfully. "And now I need new clothes."

Another man spat. "Girls with respectable uncles don't travel by themselves. I think you're a wandering whore, and you made that money on your back."

"The last man who thought that is dead." _Gods_. _Are all males like this_? Azula shifted a bit. These untrained yokels didn't realize it, but she was now battle ready.

"You that good?"

"What a way to go!"

"Can I be next?"

As they hooted and howled and guffawed, Azula froze. They were _laughing_ at her.

Once she recovered from the shock, she had a sudden vision of many stupid bastards lying mangled in the street. She was about to realize her vision, when a tug on her pants prevented bloody vengeance.

"Hey, Lady. Aunt Kei sells things."

Her informant was a tiny boy, looking up at her with wide eyes. She considered for a moment, then decided that a massacre would draw unwanted attention to herself.

"Will you take me to this Aunt Kei?"

He nodded.

She glared at her harassers. "You should thank this child. He has saved you all from endless pain and ultimate humiliation."

Azula turned her back on them and walked away, but couldn't help clenching her fist as she heard their parting jeers.

The boy was pushing himself along on some sort of wheeled contraption. He had a sticky sweet in his left hand, which he sucked on from time to time, and he used his other hand to ring a small bell at the passers-by.

Azula followed in sour silence. _And you were worried about looking noble_. She only wished that she could show a shred of dignity right now.

After what seemed like a small eternity, he stopped in front of a building and pointed. "There."

To Azula it looked just like all the other buildings. She turned back to the boy and committed his face to memory. Someday, when she had her crown back, she would reward all those who had aided her in her time of trial.

"I shall remember your services. I always repay my debts."

He stuck out a small, grubby hand. Oh. So this was to be a financial transaction. What was the proper amount of remuneration?

Azula took out a coin at random and gave it to him, then saw his eyes grow huge. Had she given him too much? Well, good. True magnificence didn't quibble over petty issues like money.

She entered the building, leaving him to ponder her awesome generosity. Inside she saw that this was indeed a shop. There were items of various kinds displayed all over the room. Behind the counter stood a handsome, dignified woman, not yet middle-aged but not young either. This must be Aunt Kei.

Azula was unsure of the proper protocol, so she wandered around uncertainly, peering at the wares. When she came to a collection of fabrics, she stared and finally began to fidget. Here was cloth, but where were all the clothes?

"Can I help you?" Kei came out from behind the counter and walked to her side.

"I need clothes."

"I can see that." The woman ran discerning eyes up and down Azula's body. "And shoes too. Your feet are bleeding on my floor."

"Do you have any? Clothes and shoes?"

"Not exactly. The women in this town usually make clothes for their families, and our cobbler makes the shoes. But you can have a pair of my old shoes if they fit. And I've been making a dress for my neighbor's daughter. I think it would look fine on you."

Azula scowled. "I want pants."

The woman's eyebrows went up. "I don't see why. You'd be much prettier in a dress, and I don't have anything else."

"Fine, but know that I am displeased. Your so-called shop is badly equipped."

Aunt Kei really did have the most expressive eyebrows. One of them twitched. "I'll keep that in mind. While I go get those, do you want a meal? My sister owns the tavern next door."

Finally. Someone in this town spoke a word of sense. "Yes. I also want a meal. And some food for my journey."

"Just come with me…" Kei laid her hand on Azula's arm, meaning to lead her away.

Azula's reaction shocked both of them. She twisted away so violently that she knocked over a container full of nuts. As she watched them bounce and roll across the floor, she struggled to understand what had just happened. The movement had been completely involuntary. She was the perpetrator of a clumsy and oafish _accident_.

"That's all-"

"What's wrong with you?" Panic made Azula's voice sharp. "Unless you want to lose your hands, keep them to yourself!"

Although the woman's face was carefully blank, Azula had the uncomfortable feeling that she _saw_ – saw Azula's tense jaw, fear-bunched muscles, and white-knuckled fists.

"My mistake: I wasn't thinking. Please don't mind the nuts."

"Of course it was, and of course I won't." Azula flung our her arm and pointed at the door. "Now show me where I can eat."

They walked outside and into a nearby building. The whole time Azula stayed at least three paces away from Kei. When they entered the tavern, they were met by a large, round-bodied troll of a woman. As she rushed forward to greet them, Azula thought that she looked like Kei: a fat, homely, stupid version of Kei.

"Kiku, this girl is passing through. She needs a meal and a bath. Do you think you could take care of it while I go get her some clothes?"

Kiku threw her hands up in an exaggerated gesture of dismay. "Oh, who is this poor little thing?"

_Poor_? _Little_? Azula repeated her story through clenched teeth. "I'm traveling to stay with my uncle, who said he would train me to be a partner in his business. I was robbed just down the road. I lost the rest of my belongings, but I managed to get away with a little bit of money."

"Oh, no!" Kiku clutched at her heart. Her voice throbbed with anguish. "He attacked you! You sad little darling! Just look at what he's done to you!"

_He_? Azula was insulted. As if a single assailant could land a blow, let alone give her a beating. "Actually, there were many of them."

The thoughtless, vacant eyes filled with tears. "Oh gods, no! Don't worry, turtle-duckling, you're safe now."

She spread her arms out wide, as if she meant to sweep Azula up into a crushing hug. Azula prepared to fend off the assault.

Kei stepped in, blocking her sister with an extended arm. "I don't think she wants to be touched, Kiku."

"Oh. Of course not!" Kiku's voice dropped to a stage whisper. "Not after…what happened. I understand."

"You'll make sure she gets a bath? And some food?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"Good. Why don't you get her cleaned up first, and I'll be back with some clothes."

Once Kei left, Kiku ushered Azula down a hall way, clucking the entire time like a gigantic, deformed chicken. From time to time she spouted something ridiculous, talking to Azula as if she were an infant, or a small fuzzy animal.

Her humiliation wasn't complete yet. It turned out that Kiku was leading her outside, where she made Azula stand under some primitive, hand-powered pumping device. Then she rinsed Azula down right there in the mucky yard, like she would any dumb herd beast.

When the worst of Azula's filth had washed off, Kiku finally brought her indoors for a real bath. She lingered for a moment outside the door, wringing her hands.

"I should come in and help. I really think I should." She leaned forward, dropping her voice to a confidential whisper. " After…I mean…Well, there are womanly things about cleaning that an innocent little girl might not know yet."

What was this idiot talking about? Azula stared back as she tried to work through it.

Kiku's face took on a sad, soulful look. Pity dripped from her words. "Don't you think someone should see where you're hurt, little mouse-dove? Maybe you could use some help."

Azula bristled. "I have already assessed my injuries, and I assure you that none of them are life-threatening. They'll be much better off without interference from a half-wit." She took a step back. "And so will I."

With that, she slammed the door in the imbecile's face. Azula glared at it for a few seconds. As if she needed help from a peasant!

When she turned around, what she saw was a bedroom. Where was the bath? She strode over to another door and yanked it open. To her expectant gaze appeared…

A closet. She turned around in a circle, wondering what she had missed. Finally her eyes fastened on the jug sitting on a nearby stand. No…

No! Beside it lay a few rags and a bar of soap. Until this moment, Azula hadn't realized how much she was looking forward, to a long, soothing, civilized soak. But the spirits were laughing at her again: they had dropped her into the most backwards hell-hole they could find.

She thought longingly of the palace spa, where she had swam in enormous bathing pools. Each one was a different temperature, and fragrant with scented oils. Even in the Earth Kingdom Azula had brought her favorite oils with her. Mai or Ty Lee had rubbed her down every day, while a soldier filled her small, portable tub and heated the water.

But this…this _soap_…They had made her use it in the madhouse showers, no doubt to inflict one more petty torture: it dried out her skin. She picked up the bar and sniffed it. At least this one was smelled pleasant.

It occurred to her that perhaps she was thinking the wrong way. Perhaps this was superior soap, which would dissolve and scent the water. Azula dropped it in the jug. Swirled it around a bit. Tapped it with her finger. _Ick_. Now it was slimy, and still whole.

_Peasants_. She should have known better.

Azula cleaned herself as well as she could, and carefully refrained from turning around to look behind her. Even now she could sense Kwan Yu, watching her. She couldn't bear to see him too.

When she was done she picked up the garment lying on the bed. It wasn't much more than a large rectangle, with a couple of ties and a few embellishments. In this town even the tailoring was primitive.

For a long time she struggled to wrap it in a way that made sense. Nothing she tried seemed to work. As the minutes dragged on, Azula felt hotter and hotter with anger and frustration. She couldn't go out there until she got it right. Admit that she couldn't dress herself? Ask for help? Unthinkable!

At last the garment fell into place. She slipped on the shoes beside the bed. They were slightly too large, but still seemed serviceable. So was the dress, actually. It was comfortable enough, and no one had believed that she was a boy anyway, even when she was wearing pants.

Azula finally opened the door. Kei was waiting there for her.

"Are you all right? You were in there a long time."

Azula thought of her clothing difficulties. "I'm fine!" she snapped, trying to repress a surge of embarrassment and irritation. Trying and succeeding. If she stomped down the stairs, it was only because her shoes were too big.

The last of her resentment had faded by the time she ate her third pastry. Or was it her fourth bowl of beef and rice? Either way, Azula was soon riding a deep swell of contentment.

"Would you like another egg roll, Sweetling?"

"Two of them." Azula watched complacently as Kiku rushed off to get more food. She calculated that it was a full five minutes before Kiku reappeared with her order. The woman could cook, but the service left much to be desired.

As her plate was set down, she decided to offer some useful criticism: "Next time move faster, you fat hog-monkey. What am I paying you for?"

Yes, Azula was definitely feeling better.

Before she left, they gave her a water skin and a sack full of food. She also learned that the north road led to Port Gansu, and the westward road led to Sunan. The names meant nothing to her, but Azula thought that a port could be a useful destination.

At last she was ready to leave this miserable dump. "How much do I owe you?"

"Two yuan," Kei snapped. At some point in the last hour her eyes had turned hard, and her lips had thinned into an angry line.

"Oh! No no no! I couldn't take anything! It's all free, little honeybee. But are you sure you want to go back out there? After…after…Well, wouldn't you rather stay here for tonight?"

_Free_? They were trying to give her handouts? Rage stiffened Azula's entire body. It was a struggle to force out the next words. "No, I do not want to stay the night in this wretched hovel. I will give you two yuan. I have money."

She pulled out a coin that she felt sure would cover the entire cost. Then she threw it at Kiku's head.

Azula spun on her heel and strode to the door. Behind her she heard a satisfying squeal of dismay, no doubt the sound of Kiku's soul being crushed as she realized the full measure of Azula's contempt.

But even Azula could be surprised. She was only a few steps out the door when she heard a shouted "Wait! Wait!" from behind her.

She turned around, and Kiku immediately pressed coins into her hand. "Here's your change. You gave me a five-yuan piece."

Then she shocked Azula into complete immobility by dropping a kiss on the top of her head. "Spirits go with you, little flower."

When Kiku walked back inside, she saw that Kei had her chin down and her face set into the "I-need-to-lecture-you" look.

"Kiku, how many times have I told you that you shouldn't let people take advantage of you? Why weren't you going to take her money?"

Kiku had several tactics to counter the "I-need-to-lecture-you" look. Today she resorted to chin-trembling and wet eyes. She half-turned towards the counter and fussed with some flowers, as if she couldn't bear to see Kei picking on her. "I-I-I don't know w-why you're so angry at m-me, Kei. She needed help. How could I take money from the p-poor little kitten-goose?"

"That little _witch_," Kei enunciated each word slowly and carefully, "was hateful, rude, and ungrateful. Especially to you. You didn't owe her anything."

"She was c-confused. She must have been. I'm sure those awful men were unkind to her, such a pretty face as she had – even if it was all bruised and angry." Kiku started to make crying noises.

"I don't believe a word of her story. And even if I did, there's no excuse for the way she treated you. You can't save every stray that comes through your door, Kiku. If someone won't respect you and won't respect your house, then you need to kick them out. Or at least damned well collect what's owed you!"

"No!" Kiku suddenly whirled around to face her sister. Kei had never seen such resolve in her sister, and it momentarily froze her. "It doesn't matter what she said to me! I may be fat and stupid, but I won't ever be mean. You wanted her to be sweet and polite and say things to make me feel good, but _she_ didn't feel good. She was scared and unhappy."

Kiku sat down heavily, her posture slumping. "That was somebody's little lamb-bunny, and she came to me. If I had a baby, I'd hope and pray that someone helped her when she needed it." Kiku started weeping, quietly and with sincerity. "There was something wrong with her, Kei. What will her poor mama think?"

Not for the first time, Kiku had shamed her clever sister. Kei immediately sat down next to her and put her arm around the heaving shoulders. "I'm sorry, Honey. You're right. She irritated me, but _you_ are patient and good. And that was a good thing you did. If everyone was like you, there wouldn't be any lost and angry girls."

She pressed her cheek against Kiku's. "I only hope that the next person she meets will be as kind as you are. But I don't think they will be."

The next person was fast approaching. Out on the north road, Azula was still puzzling over Kiku's strange behavior when she heard someone coming up from behind. She stepped aside to let him pass, but he stopped right beside her.

It was the man who had called her a whore. He was leering down at her from a cart, which was pulled by two ostrich-horses. His lips parted into a nasty grin. "Well if it ain't the little man-killer. Wanna try it right here and now?"

Whatever it was he expected, it wasn't what happened next. Quick as a snake, Azula's hand shot out and grabbed his shirt. He was already leaning towards her: it was a simple matter to yank him completely off balance.

He ended up leaning far out over the side of the cart, barely touching the edge of his seat, propped up only by the strength of her arm. Their faces were inches apart. Azula stared hard into his eyes.

For the first time since waking up in the ditch, in a world that suddenly seemed strange and hostile, Azula knew exactly what to do. All she had to do was shift her weight a bit, and he would flip to the ground on his back. Three seconds of pressure on the throat would cut off the flow of blood to his brain, making him pass out. A few more seconds would kill him. If she wanted to make him suffer first, it would be easy enough to snap his arm at the elbow.

Then she could take his ostrich-horses, giving her some much needed speed. It wasn't stealing if he threatened her first.

_Was it_?

This man was a creep and a loser. He deserved it.

_Didn't he_?

As she considered, Azula ceased to hear anything but their ragged breathing. The stifling summer heat fueled her tense fury, and the iron taste of violence rose up out of her core and into her mouth, like bile. She noted absently that the man was sweating profusely. The veins on his head and neck were popping out. His eyes were bloodshot and protruding. He was afraid.

Her grip loosened a bit.

That was all he needed. He threw himself backwards so hard that he almost rolled off the other side of the cart. He scrabbled around for a grip on his reins, dropped them, swore incoherently. Finally he was off, as fast as his plodding farm animals could take him.

She watched him go, feeling a little conflicted. Was she pleased by his fear? Should she be? The madhouse inmates were never far from her thoughts, and they intruded now.

Azula set off again, a little more slowly. This day had given her plenty to think about.

But, overall, it had turned out for the best. It was better to avoid fights: any pursuit by the local justice would slow her up. And her time in the town hadn't been so bad. She got everything she needed, and she was reasonably sure that no one had suspected her of being the princess.

She decided that she was pleased with her performance. Azula was traveling _incognito_.

.o0o.

"And then she threw it at my head – a whole five yuan, without ever a thought of getting her change!"

His mouth twitched, but Shen managed to hide his amusement. "Yes, that's her."

Kiku wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. "I'm sure there was something wrong. Such a pretty girl, but all dirty and hungry and bruised looking. And she just acted so…so.. _strange_."

Shen had taken Kiku's measure within the first thirty seconds. Now he decided that it was time to bait his hook. Keeping his voice low and grave, he said, "Thank you for telling me. I'm worried about her too. You see, she's my responsibility – or she will be soon."

Kiku looked up curiously. "You mean…"

He nodded. "Yes, we're engaged."

Her hands strayed to her ample bosom, which heaved dramatically. Her voice was suddenly breathless. "Oh, how romantic! What a beautiful couple you are!"

"Or we will be, if I can find her." He let anxiety seep into his every word, look, and gesture. "Did she tell you where she was going?"

She opened her mouth, but was cut off as another woman came up and laid a hand on her arm. This one had slipped into the tavern during Kiku's recital, and evidently felt that it was time to intervene. She looked at Shen levelly. "Engaged? Isn't she a little young for you?"

So this one wasn't buying it. He adjusted his plans accordingly. "You mean, aren't I a little old for her?" He flashed a rueful smile. "I can see why you think so, but it's very common for there to be an age difference in a noble marriage."

Kiku's eyes went wide and her mouth formed a perfect "o". "Noble! Can it really be true?"

Shen pulled his cloak aside, revealing his house insignia. "You've noticed my men. Those are _my_ men, not hired guards."

"Then she-"

He nodded. "A very high house indeed."

Kiku squealed and clapped her hands. The other woman looked even more dubious than before. Shen went on, "Now you're wondering why she was here. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure. Her mother died a few years ago, which left her alone with her father."

He became very somber. "I'm afraid that her father is not a good man. Even his wife- Well, our marriage has been arranged for quite some time. Before she died, the mother made it her dying wish that the marriage take place as soon as her daughter was old enough. I think she wanted to get the girl away from her father as soon as possible.

"Even so, I wonder if it was left too long. I found out a week ago that she ran away. No one would say why, but I suspect her father had something to do with it." Shen looked down sadly and toyed with his drink. "I just wish…I wish she had come to me.

"I thought she was happy with our engagement, happy with me. When I find her, I intend to find out whether that's true. I won't let her return to her father's house. If she's willing, I plan to offer her the protection of my name, of all my worldly goods, of my sword arm if need be."

He glanced up and caught Kiku's eye, then held the contact. "I want to marry her on the spot, if she'll have me."

Kiku looked rapturous. There was still hesitation from the other side, so Shen ordered lunch. As he ate, he spun his tale. Necessity dictated some of it, pure whimsy took care of the rest.

By the time he finished his meal, even the suspicious one, Kei, was looking at him warmly. It was her that finally gave him what he needed.

"Long Wei did claim that he saw her on the north road, though whether you can believe anything he says.."

"It's the best I have. How long ago was this?"

"Two days."

"Only two days! Thank you, Mistress Kei." He bowed to her. Then he turned to Kiku. "And you, I can tell that you're a generous, loving soul. You've given me hope again. Thank you, thank you."

He bowed over her hand and kissed it. Although he managed to keep a straight face, he almost shook with silent laughter as she grasped his shoulders, thus pressing her imposing breasts up against his chest. Throwing her head back, she looked into his face and gasped, breathlessly, "Oh! I'll never forget you! Go! Go noble sir and find your true love! Godspeed!"

He left them. In the days to come, Kei was known to speak approvingly about the stranger's quiet good sense. Kiku gushed for hours on end about the handsome and gallant lord, on a quest to save his fair lady.

As soon as they left the tavern behind them, Lao – who had witnessed the whole exchange – took a swing at Shen's head. Shen easily ducked the blow: he'd been too fast for the Old Man since the age of ten.

Lao looked like he was about to gag. "You just can't help yourself, can you? I never want to see a display like that again."

Shen grinned in a way that reminded Lao of a little boy. "It worked, didn't it? And I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy myself while I'm manipulating people. _They_ enjoy it. The ugly one will probably have dreams about me for years to come."

As he had done many times before, Lao shook his head in envious disbelief. "You and women. Every one of them. They all fall for it. They all want you."

"All of them? You know that's not true." Shen's grin faded into something dangerous and ugly. He unconsciously rubbed his wooden hand. "How could you forget? We're after the one that got away."

.o0o.

At another tavern, a different man had already found the girl he was looking for. Iroh sat down across from her and held up a cushion, the one Shen had reclined on at the Firelord's dinner.

"June," he said, "I have a job for you."


	3. The Imperial Senate

**Hallelujah! I've updated! My profoundest apologies for the huge delay. This chapter was already partway done back in August. Then the semester started and completely hijacked my life. I didn't get to work on this again until vacation. And then the chapter was so long, so complicated, and so hard to write that it took me all of winter break, and then some, to get it done. I hope it doesn't disappoint too much. From a narrative standpoint, this chapter absolutely had to happen. But I'm not sure if I've managed to make it entertaining.**

**I don't think there will ever be such a long delay again, but I've decided to post updates on my author page, to tell you how my next chapter is coming along. I don't suppose it will help me write any faster, but at least you'll know that I'm still alive.**

**Some reviewers asked questions after the last chapter. The most prominent was: "Will Azula get her firebending back?" I really can't give that away, but I will share my views on this subject. I agree that Azula can't live up to her full potential without her firebending; thus, I would never cut off the possibility that she might get it back. However, I question whether firebending would be a good thing for her at this point in her life. Azula is socially and emotionally retarded. If she regains her firebending, then she goes back to being a super-powered human weapon. Could that really help her psychic well-being? Would that be good for the emotional health of any fifteen-year-old? **

**In short, she'll probably get her bending back – eventually. But in the meantime, I think maybe she needs to learn to see herself as something more than a weapon. **

**I hope that soothes any fears on this point, and that it will explain whatever decisions I make in the course of this story. Also, this story may not be going where you think it's going… **

* * *

><p>Chapter 3 – The Imperial Senate<p>

It was a trap, he could feel it.

When Zuko entered the Nest, all conversation stopped. Normally the hum of voices would continue, unabated, until the session was called to order, and then it would take a few moments for the noise to die down completely. But today the conversation didn't rush heedlessly on, or falter, or even fade away. It simply _stopped_.

He may have been new to politics, but Zuko had already seen enough battle for a lifetime. He knew how to recognize the small, mysterious promptings of warrior instinct, and when to trust them. Now he sensed the familiar clenching in his gut, the sudden tension in his shoulders, the cold touch of fear on the back of his neck. These were warnings. _Ambush_! _Fight_! _Run_!

Running wasn't an option. Someone had called a special session of the senate. When the nation was at war, the Firelord could excuse himself from civil hearings and appoint an agent. In peacetime, he was obliged to listen.

Whoever chose the time, also chose the place. There was no official venue for senate meetings. Zuko preferred the Great Temple, which had once been his family's shrine. That was in the distant past. Over the centuries, the altar of the imperial family had grown into an official center of state worship. There, Zuko would have sat at the base of a colossal statue of Agni, which was erected by one of his own ancestors. From the foot of the giant, he could have gazed down regally on his noble subjects.

Not so in the Nest. _They want to make me uncomfortable_, he thought, as he listened to the sound of his own footsteps. When his solitary walk had ended, he settled himself into his chair, steeling himself against the unnerving silence – and against the sight about to greet his eyes. He looked up.

Before the Firelord existed, the Nest had been the meeting place for the assembled lords of the Fire Realms. Its design reflected that long ago freedom and equality. The benches rose upwards, like the seating at a theatre, and stretched almost all the way around the circular room. This way, everyone could shout at each other without feeling that someone else had a better seat.

The benches were packed. A solid wall of red clothing met his gaze, and faces. They were all men, and they were all much older than him: the minimum age to hold a senate seat was thirty-four. Because he was seated in the middle, on the floor, they all had to stare down at him. And they did so, fearlessly, hungrily, searching for weakness with those golden hawk eyes which were so common among the nobility. The eyes of the predator.

Zuko was reminded, not for the first time, of the old story. This place had been called various things throughout its long history: the Great Hall, the Senate Hall, the Assembly Chambers, the House of Lords. Nothing had stuck until Zuko's four-times-great great-grandfather, Mazaru the Drunk, had dubbed it "The Nest". The tour guides claimed it was because of the birds. This building was so ancient that it was built of wood, and birds constantly flew through the open, glassless windows to roost on the blackened rafters. It was considered unlucky to get rid of them.

But anyone who mattered knew better. Once upon a time, a naive poet had quixotically referred to the place as the "Den of Dragons". Mazaru, hearing the line, immediately sprayed wine out his nose. After a great deal of coughing and spluttering (by him) and back-pounding (by his favorite mistress) he finally managed to choke out: "Den of dragons? Agni fuck me! More like a nest of godsdamned viper-rats."

Even besotted old Mazaru never forgot what he was dealing with. Why should Zuko? Although he hadn't marked the exact moment, he knew that it had been months, at least, since he realized who he was facing: _the enemy_.

Like usual, he had to make a conscious effort not to tug at his cumbersome civilian robes. They were required, supposedly so that they would all remember their task: this was a legislative body, not a military council. Zuko suspected a different motive. It was so hard to move in these blasted things, that they effectively prevented killing and brawling.

And, as always, Zuko sent a final, fervent prayer to Agni. He prayed that none of the birds would shit on him. _Please spirits! Not here. Not now. Not in front of __**them**_.

"A full house today." He was addressing the Council Master, a sharp-eyed old man whose name was Sho. His hair had turned white before Zuko was even born.

"Yes, My Lord. And very attentive: they all came early. Shall we start?"

"Of course. I'd hate to keep them waiting." Sho could hardly have missed the sarcasm. He was old, not senile.

Sho rapped his staff sharply on the floor. "This meeting of the senate – the forty-third of this year, which is the three-hundred-and-twenty-seventh year of the unified Fire Nation, and the first year of the reign of Firelord Zuko, Son of Kings, Light of the West, Mighty Dragon of the Sea, Defender of Our Homes (may his reign be long!) - will now begin. Agni bless and guide our councils. The first item of business is the Firelord's tax proposal. His majesty has made it known that it would please him if the treasury collected revenue from luxury imports."

So, they had called a special session just to discuss his proposal. How obliging.

The Firelord always spoke first, so Zuko began: "Honorable lords, loyal servants of our nation, you know why we're here. You also know my reasons for proposing this tax. The peace is testing us more than the war ever did. Then we had a purpose. Then we knew our place in the world. Then we had a destiny.

"Now that the war has ended, so has our certainty. I understand what that's like – to think that you have a destiny, and then lose it. I remember how scared and unsure I was. But I was wrong: I never lost anything. Your destiny is what you make of it. What seems like the end of the world is actually a chance to change and grow.

"That time has come for us: we have an opportunity to be better than we were. What will be become? I don't know yet. No one does. And that's not our only problem. Our relationship with the other nations is tense, to say the least; there are threats on every side. The situation at home isn't much better. Our people are uneasy. The soldiers pouring back from the frontlines are idle and unpaid. Soon they'll be hungry – and dangerous. But why should I talk about it? You know all this.

"Some of our problems don't have to be so difficult. The treasury is almost empty, and there will be no more war booty to refill it – no more stolen goods. The solution is simple: we'll pay our own dues, like honest men. A luxury tax will affect nobles the most. Our common people are hard-pressed, but _we_ have more disposable income than anyone in the world. A luxury tax won't fill the treasury by itself; it will be a start, though. And it will show our people that we're willing to make sacrifices for the common good. We have to set an example. We have to take the lead.

"And we have to stop pulling in different directions. What's our destiny? We all disagree, but that's no reason to disagree about every single thing. This makes sense. This is in everyone's interest. What's our destiny? That's something we'll have to figure out together. It's together that we'll meet the challenges ahead, and only together can we survive. Passing this proposal will be the first step towards the unity we need."

Zuko stopped. That was the end of the speech that he had painstakingly written out and memorized. But now that the moment had come, it seemed to need something else to finish it off.

As he searched for something to say, he scanned the stony faces in front of him. It didn't matter what he said, he knew. They had heard it all before, and never listened. They were determined to defy him.

_Azula would have them eating out of her hand by now_. The thought made him feel sour. His jaw tightened and his fists clenched. _No, she wouldn't even be making this speech, because she would have gotten the law passed weeks ago_.

"There's no need to be difficult about this," he blurted out. _So stop being stupid_. "Opposing me all the time won't fix anything. And it won't bring the war back."

Zuko instantly regretted his words. They were true, but sounded peevish even to his own ears.

The only response was an ominous silence. Sho rapped his staff. "The senate calls the First Speaker to give his opinion. Cheng, head of House Sato."

Cheng rose. He was an old war crony of Azulon's. Zuko could still remember a time when he came to the palace once a week, to play cards and drink whiskey with Zuko's ancient and cantankerous grandfather.

Cheng wore his age well. He stood straighter than most people half his age, and he still looked strong and vigorous. The deep lines in his face enhanced his aura of stern dignity. He had the innate authority of a man who knew his own worth: when he spoke, even kings listened.

He tended to deliver his speeches in barks and growls. On another man it might have been ridiculous. But who would dare to laugh at the great Cheng? Resigned to yet another embarrassing set down, Zuko braced himself for the onslaught.

"The Firelord says many fine words, but I'm not sure I understand them. We tell him that we're worried about our ships, and he talks to us about destiny. Every man among us agrees that this proposal is a bad idea, but he claims we have to be more unified. He even hints that we're too cheap to pay taxes. Who said anything about not paying? We understand what's at stake, probably better than he does.

"To top it all, he jaws at us about the common good. Everyone here was serving the common good before he was even born. I was doing it before his father was born. By the time I was seventeen I had already stormed the walls of Sendai, survived a forced march across the Si Wong desert, fought dozens of engagements, and spent five months flat on my back in a field hospital, smashed half to death by the enemy's damned flying rocks. What has this stripling ever done, that he can lecture his elders about making sacrifices? He's just avoiding the real issue.

"He wants to peep at our cargoes and lay his groping hands on our goods. He wants to screw our shipping good and hard. Centuries ago we were free. For centuries now we've been obeying his family instead – willingly and loyally. But not one Firelord – not one! not even Sozin himself! – dared to interfere with our ships. Our wise leader seems to think that we're objecting just to annoy him. As if we would stoop to that! And for what? 'For the war,' he says!

"The truth is that the war has stripped us of our ancient rights and privileges, one-by-one. We gave them up to the state so our nation could be strong in its hour of need. Now that need is gone, but still he wants to take almost the only thing we have left.

"The sea is our birthright. Our fathers sailed her, and their fathers, and all our forefathers back to the Beginning of Days.

"The sea is our calling. Even our enemies admit that we're the best sailors in the world. And it's through the sea that we built the greatest empire the world has ever seen.

"The sea is our lifeblood. How could we even feed ourselves without her? It's our ships that made us so prosperous over the last hundred years, not the war. _They_ make sure no one goes hungry. _They_ have enriched everyone in the Fire Nation. Including the Firelord! If he takes the ships too, then he'll be robbing his entire people and leaving them to starve."

Zuko had a sudden vision of Cheng feeding the poor from the deck of his merchantman, and almost laughed. Everyone knew that the shipping clans were greedy and dangerous. The nobles who controlled them took most of the profits. Anyone who complained or got in the way was silenced - swiftly and permanently.

Cheng must have sensed the lurking smile, because his face grew hard. For a hushed moment, he gazed at Zuko from out beneath his bushy eyebrows. Grown men had been known to burst into tears before that look.

Zuko narrowed his eyes and glared back.

"The Firelord asks much." Cheng's voice was quieter now, almost soft. "What does he offer in return?"

For weeks now, Cheng had ended every single one of his speeches with that question. This time was different, Zuko sensed. Although the room was absolutely still, he had an impression of taut bodies, straining ears, and held breath.

Was this a test? Zuko wanted to tear his hair in frustration. What was the right answer? He had already explained himself, over and over.

Well, he wouldn't do it again: they had already heard all they needed to know. It was time they learn to serve their country, not their own petty interests. From now on they would do their duty – without any bribes or bargains from the Firelord.

And Cheng could go to hell.

"We are surprised to hear that question." Again, he almost smiled. Using the royal _we_ was always amusing. "The Honorable Lord Cheng has already asked that question – many times. And we have already answered it – many times. Perhaps the Honorable Lord Cheng should consider retirement: senility is grounds for removal from the senate."

Zuko had hoped to dent that armor of smug self-importance, just a little. But, as ever, he was doomed to disappointment. Cheng's reaction was unexpected. "Then there's nothing I can do for you," he said flatly.

He sat down. The other shoe had dropped: Zuko felt the tension ease. Something had just happened. But what? It was as if everyone had received an invisible signal, or the answer to a burning question. But which question?

The unnatural silence continued. Sho rapped his staff and spoke into the void. "The senate calls the Second Speaker to give his opinion. Hiro, head of House Bai Jiang."

Mai's grandfather stood up. The benches were so tightly packed that his robes brushed against the people next to him as he rose. For all that, he seemed cool and distant and elegant, like he was standing alone on a pedestal, holding court to a herd of grubby peasants.

The resemblance between him and Mai was more than skin deep.

They looked so much alike that it was almost uncanny. Hiro wore his hair very long, in the old style. Most Bai Jiangs did: they were notoriously vain about their glossy, black locks. He was very pale, like his granddaughter, and had the same high-bred bone structure.

Then there was the chilly reserve. But Mai wore her reserve as a mask, a fragile armor that protected a warm and emotional core. Hiro was just cold, cold all the way down to his black, dead soul. He had no more concern for right and wrong than a hunting cat.

When he spoke, he never betrayed anything so ill-bred as anger or contempt. But his frigid competence was far more withering than Cheng's bitterest harangue.

"We seem to be going in circles." His voice was high and clear. "For weeks now we've all been saying the same thing. Repeating ourselves won't end this deadlock. It only consumes time and resources – time and resources that we can ill afford in the present crisis. This matter should have been dropped long ago. But if I must contribute to this mummer's farce, so be it.

"The Firelord believes that his proposal will provide revenue for our treasury, but he underestimates the cost – as I've told him before. We'll need customhouses at every port, and wages for the officials that man them. A massive police force will have to be created and equipped, one that can patrol both seas and shoreline: import duties always lead to smuggling. The new restrictions will also hurt legitimate trade, something which must not be allowed to happen. The wealth generated by trade is far more important than any tax.

"When I first raised these concerns, the Firelord asked me, as Secretary of the Treasury, to assess the financial viability of his scheme. I have now done so, and believe that I am in a position to do something novel – shockingly so. At long last, I will introduce hard facts into this long and muddled debate."

He began to reel off figures, and Zuko began to sweat. Nothing could have been more crushing than that impersonal weight of numbers, delivered with flat, ruthless precision. By the time Hiro was done, Zuko was fighting hard not to squirm in his seat.

"As the Firelord can see, his proposal is impractical, even counterproductive. If the issue ends here, at least we can cut our losses. Enough time has been squandered on this fruitless struggle." Hiro cocked his head in expectation – ever so slightly – but the message was clear. The Firelord was supposed to roll over and do as he was bid.

It was pointless to accuse Hiro of making a mistake. Everyone knew better. "In light of the Treasurer's report, we concede that adjustments need to be made." Zuko realized that he was speaking through his teeth, and made an effort to unclench them. "But money has never been the only concern. Doing the right thing is beyond value."

The older man arched his elegant eyebrow. "I presume that you refer to the smuggling. I disagree with you. _Everything_ has its proper value, especially in this case. What you think is the 'right thing' will only make matters worse."

"How? What could be worse than what's happening? The shipping companies are trading in drugs and weapons. And people."

"And if you look at their cargoes, they will still do so. They will always find a way. Where money is at stake, man's ingenuity is boundless."

"Then we'll try harder."

"To what end? If you stop the shipping clans, then others will take their place. Every piece of scum with a fishing boat will risk the law for an easy profit. Even if you catch a few, the rest will melt away into the coves and islets and villages. And all of their friends and relatives will help them. No, be content with the monster you know, or you'll find yourself shadow-boxing with an army of phantoms."

"It doesn't matter if it's a losing battle. We can't condone this."

"Vice will exist, whether we condone it or not. The more it is censured and harried, the deeper and blacker the holes it must hid in, the more it flourishes. What is to be gained by switching suppliers? Pirates and gangs will spring up to meet the demand, and we'll lose what little control we have."

"We need to strike at the source. There would be no suppliers if there was no demand."

"That is beyond our powers. Although we nobles have our flaws, the smugglers' best customers are – have always been – the poor. We can hardly control all of them every moment of their lives. Nor do I think we should try to do so. The rabble needs something to make their existence worthwhile. Like beasts, they revel in the base pleasures of the flesh. They know no better."

"We won't even discuss how unfair that statement was," said Zuko, with admirable calm, "or the fact that it is every senator's sworn duty to protect the interests of that rabble. But we find that the Honorable Lord Hiro is distressingly cold-blooded. Lives are at stake. The Firelord must do _something_."

"The Firlord _must_ do nothing of the sort. He is no crusader. He is the head of state. It is _his_ sworn duty to choose the most prudent course for our nation. I believe that he would do well to show a little more cold-blooded calculation."

"Are you questioning my judgment?"

Hiro bowed slightly. "As my ancestors were before me, I am the Firelord's humble servant. But a less partial judge might say that the Firelord's proposal is rash, naïve, and childish."

Zuko's fraying temper snapped. "Enough! I believe the Honorable Lord Hiro has made his thoughts clear. We don't have to go any further to know that he has an answer for everything."

Like Mai, her grandfather had a talent for speaking volumes with a single gesture. His shrug was minimal, his voice a perfect deadpan. Yet he might as well have yelled to the far corners of the room.

"Don't listen to me. I've only been Secretary of the Treasury for twenty-three years."

His victory was complete. As Hiro sat down, Zuko _blushed_.

So it went down the line, every single speaker telling Zuko why it couldn't be done. Offering excuse after excuse. He and Mai had bribed, cajoled, or threatened certain senators into supporting their cause. But they were minor players, men who wouldn't be called upon for their opinion until the end, if at all. When the vote was cast, the senate would always follow the lead of its most prestigious members, and such men were beyond the Firelord's reach.

It was happening again. Zuko's jaw was so tightly clamped that the tension crept up into his temples. By the time Ling stood up, he was nursing a pounding headache. When he saw the militant sparkle in Ling's eye, Zuko's own eye twitched involuntarily.

Of course. Of course Ling would be the one to spring the trap. The courts and senate house were his arena, words his chosen weapon.

Ling's family was an old one, but provincial. Their seat was a small and unimportant island, a backwater really, with no claim to fame. None of the Tochigi had ever held public office, and so none had ever held a senate seat. Then Ling swept onto the political stage.

His meteoric rise was astounding, given his background. Long ago, the commons had waged a terrific battle for the right to elect public officials, who had traditionally been appointed by the senate from the ranks of the nobility. Once the commons got what they wanted, they immediately proceeded to…elect their nobles.

It was rare for anybody outside the old regime to get elected. For new men of talent, military glory usually launched their political careers. But Ling had performed his mandatory service with no special distinction, and even less enthusiasm.

For all that, he had been elected to every single office at the youngest possible age, with no losses. His greatest achievement, though, was unofficial To everyone's shock, the great Cheng had married his favorite granddaughter to this obscure upstart.

From that moment, Ling's influence had steadily grown. He now had an ancient and illustrious clan at his back, with all the resources and connections that implied. His undeniable talents were becoming famous throughout the empire, and even the most snobbish had to admit that perhaps Cheng had chosen well.

Today Ling was sitting beside his glorious in-law. He had a certain look on his face as he stood, a look that Zuko usually associated with warriors before battle.

They were about to have a showdown.

Ling's voice wasn't exactly beautiful, but it was smooth and distinctive and carefully modulated through long practice. He began gently. "I think it's time we talked about the real issue. Don't you, My Lord?"

Zuko was thrown. "What-"

"We've been arguing about this for weeks. But that's not the only disagreement we've been having. This body has been deadlocked ever since you took the throne. Something is wrong. You've tried to lead us in a certain direction, and we…Well, perhaps we simply can't appreciate the Firelord's wisdom. He is Agni incarnate, but we are mere mortals. I think we could all benefit, My Lord, if you explained a few things to us."

Zuko shifted gingerly in his seat. He had a pins-and-needles feeling deep in his gut. He wasn't going to like where this was going, he could tell. "Of course. We are always pleased to share our thoughts. It's important that our fellow Lords understand our views."

"Excellent. Then perhaps you can tell me why you're so eager to ignore us all and get this law passed."

"You call this ignoring you?"

"Please, just answer the question. Why?"

"Haven't I explained myself enough?"

"I want the truth. What put the idea in your head? I know it wasn't any of your advisers. They're all here, and they've all voted against you. So what was it? How did this inspired – this disastrous – plan first come to you?"

That was going too far. "Do you also want to know what I had for breakfast? I don't owe you an account of my every waking moment, _senator_."

"You don't owe me anything. But when something affects the Fire Nation, you do owe us an account of your true motives, _Firelord_."

"What do you expect me to say that I haven't said a dozen times?"

"I just find your timing a little suspicious. Didn't you first make this proposal after the Peace Summit?"

"What of it? Coincidences happen."

"It's only that I – we – are starting to detect a disturbing pattern. You first made the proposal after the Peace Summit. Tell me, did one of the delegates suggest it?"

"Someone did bring the smuggling to my attention. The slave trade concerns every good and honorable person in the Four Nations."

"This good and honorable person, this kind and selfless soul, where was he from?"

"The Earth Kingdom."

"Ah."

"There are many good people in the Earth Kingdom. That's why we ended the war. That's why we have to reach out and make amends. We should know our brothers better."

"And which brother asked you to reduce our inland shipping? The brother who shares your blood, your ancestors, your home? Or was it one of your new, foreign brothers?"

"It doesn't matter. The people of the Earth Kingdom have a right to ship along their own waterways. If we limit the number of vessels we have on their rivers, their own people will finally have a chance to compete. It's just the right thing to do."

"Is that what you think? We've never forced them to hire our ships. They do it of their own free will, because we ship more quickly, more safely, more cheaply. No, taking our ships away won't help them any. It _will_ hurt _us_. Now tell me, who was it that asked this of you? The brothers of your own nation, or your so-called brothers in the Earth Kingdom?"

Zuko felt as though the words were being dragged out of him. "The Earth Kingdom."

"Amazing coincidence! They've proposed two laws that won't accomplish anything – except to cripple our trade. But wait…only two?"

Ling was never content to sit still when he could be walking around, striking dramatic poses and looking his audience in the eye. He left his seat now, strolled up the aisle a few paces, and actually sat down on the steps. He sprawled out casually, leaning on his elbows with his legs crossed. Ling looked like he was having a pleasant chat with an old friend.

He slouched towards a man on his right. "Satoru, I know that the military has cancelled some of its contracts with you. Who got those contracts instead?"

Satoru was the Fire Nation's greatest shipping magnate, but nobody would guess at his fabulous wealth just by looking at him. He had the mean, hard eyes and pursed lips of a bad-tempered miser. Set in his scrawny and pointed face, they made him look like a particularly vicious rodent.

He practically spat his answer. "The Earth Kingdom!" Satoru looked even angrier than usual.

"The Earth Kingdom," agreed Ling easily. "And who's squatting on _our_ public lands?"

Someone in the crowd yelled, "The Earth Kingdom!"

"Who deported all of our businessmen without any warning, without reimbursing them for their lost property?"

This time several people answered. "The Earth Kingdom!"

"Who's demanding that we pay all our foreign debts right now?"

The entire senate had caught on. Their unified shout frightened the roosting birds above, who burst into a riotous frenzy of flight. "The Earth Kingdom!"

"Who's refusing to pay _their_ debts?"

"The Earth Kingdom!"

Ling kept going, and the thunderous retort gained in momentum and volume.

"The Earth Kingdom!"

"The Earth Kingdom!"

"The Earth Kingdom!"

"The Earth Kingdom!"

"Who's using our ports without paying the fee?"

"The Earth Kingdom!" The hypnotic rhythm broke, as some of the voices trailed off or paused or stuttered.

Ling raised a finger. "No, that one is the Water Tribe."

Everyone laughed. The moment may have passed, but a slight buzz remained in the air, an electric charge of anticipation. Ling now had their full attention.

He looked back to Zuko. "Do you wonder, Firelord, why we're confused? They ask for something, you give it to them. They demand something, you indulge them. They take something, you let them have it. This nonsense about an import tax is just the latest concession you've made. Why do you do it? And where will it end?"

_Why don't you understand_? _And where will this end_? "If we want peace, then we have to give up a few things. We can't have everything on our own terms, especially since we brought this on ourselves."

"We? Say rather _you_ brought this on us. Only a defeated people must submit to the whims of another. We suffered some serious setbacks, but even now our military is the mightiest in the world. If it weren't for the Avatar, the other nations would still feel our sword at their throats. Who are they to dictate to us?"

"This isn't about winning and losing. The war was hurting everybody – it had to end. We were the ones who started it, we kept it going, and we tried to finish it with slaughter. Can you blame the other nations for not trusting us? If we want to gain their trust, we have to atone for our crimes."

"I hope that the Firelord is merely being rhetorical, and that I don't need to give him a history lesson. We both know the war was more complicated than that. As for atonement – haven't we done enough? So far the senate has agreed to most of the Earth Kingdom's requests. But the line has to be drawn."

"Enough? How can we ever atone enough for what we've done? We wiped out an entire people, and inflicted a century of bloodshed and misery on the other two."

"We've suffered our own share of bloodshed and misery. If we're repaying an eye for an eye, can I gut the Earthbender who killed my father? He was traveling to Nanchang on a business trip, when his entire retinue was ambushed by so-called freedom fighters. They were all disemboweled, to a man. Their heads and hands were cut off, too. We never did find those."

"Of course we shouldn't pay an eye for an eye. The cycle of violence has to end. That's why we need to be generous: so that hostilities don't break out again."

"And will the other nations be generous to us? Or don't you think they'll be out for our blood? When they demand executions, will that end 'the cycle of violence'?"

"Atrocities have been committed, and the Fire Nation will not condone that. If the other nations want trials for war crimes, they'll get them."

"Atrocities have been committed on both sides. Do you think the atrocities will stop if you allow our opponents to kill us legally? In the hard reality of war, there's a fine line between 'atrocity' and 'necessity'. But the other nations will find an excuse to condemn every man they possibly can. What soldier is innocent in the eyes of the enemy?"

"We'll find a way to make sure the trials are fair, if it ever comes to that."

"Very well. Perhaps our soldiers deserve what they get. But what about our civilians? We all know that, sooner or later, the Earth Kingdom will demand reparations. Probably as soon as they can think of a suitably outrageous sum. I have no doubt that the Water Tribes will want their pound of flesh as well. If we give in, it will crush us. Do our craftsmen and farmers deserve that kind of hardship? Do our wives and mothers? Do our children? Most of those who fought in the hundred-year war are dead and gone. The men in this room are old: we'll hardly feel the consequences of our sins. That burden will fall on our children instead – if we let the other nations have everything they want. Will you allow that?"

Zuko hesitated. That same question had been keeping him awake at night. Despite wracking his brain for long, anxious hours, he still didn't know the answer.

Ling cut him off before he could think of something to say. "Let me spare you the embarrassment of answering. The fact that you're considering it is disturbing enough. To show you my goodwill, I won't even ask you what you plan to do with the colonies. I don't want you to believe that I'm just trying to make you look bad."

"Of course not. We trust that the Honorable Lord Ling is trying to accomplish other things as well."

Ling ignored the sarcasm, and continued, "I'm trying to make you understand our concerns. Tell me, do you trust your sister?"

Zuko shot out of his seat. "_What_?"

"Do you trust your sister?"

Zuko liked to think that his next words were cold as ice, biting as steel, and crushing as an avalanche. "That has nothing to do with the present discussion. Lord Ling would do well to remember what's due to his own dignity and that of the senate. If he wants to gossip about the royal family, he should do so in private, where he won't embarrass himself or others."

"I'm not gossiping. I'm asking a question. And it is relevant, I assure you." Ling didn't look like a man who had been put in his place. He talked with a blithe cheerfulness that Zuko found revolting, considering the subject matter. "I beg the senate's indulgence for a few moments; I promise I'll make everything clear. Now, My Lord, no one has seen your sister for months. She must be in a prison somewhere. But why? She's been convicted of no crime. I think the Firelord doesn't trust the Princess, and that's why she's been locked away."

It was on the tip of Zuko's tongue to say that he had never put Azula in prison, but he stifled the urge. The less these jackal-vipers knew about her, the better. "It's true that the Princess was sent away for her own good and the good of others."

"So you don't trust her?"

"No."

"But why? Even her bitterest critics – and she had many – never said that she wasn't devoted to the Fire Nation. Since you both claim to love and serve our people, surely you could have found a way to work together."

"Appearances can be deceiving. Azula didn't love or serve our people. I don't think she's capable to loving anybody but herself. The only thing she's ever served is her own selfish interests."

"You're talking about motives, not results. The Princess may have been self-serving, but she clearly made her country the focus of her ambitions. She worked tirelessly on our behalf, and that's how she won her glory. I say again that no one ever doubted her loyalty…except you. Admit it: if you don't trust her, it has nothing to do with the Fire Nation, and everything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with the Fire Nation. Azula was a warmonger. She was leading us down a path of dishonor and ruin."

"That is a matter of opinion, not of loyalty. There are those who would say that the war was leading us to peace and prosperity; the Princess was just trying to get us there. Perhaps she was wrong, like everyone else who fought in the war. But at least she was committed to us. She would have fought for the Fire Nation to the bitter end. Don't pretend that the Princess was committing treason. This is a conflict between you and her, and the ideologies you each represent."

"It is treason to disobey the Firelord, and to plot against him. There's no saying how far she might go to satisfy her ego by taking my place. It could come to civil war – which would be a terrible thing for the Fire Nation."

"Ah, we come at the heart of the matter. Firelord Ozai, I believe, never suspected the Princess of plotting against him. As for civil war, it's impossible for just one person to fight a war all alone, without any followers. If she tried to depose you, many would flock to her banners and hail her, not as a traitor, but as the savior of our nation. She wouldn't be waging war against just any Firelord, nor against the Fire Nation itself. She would be fighting against _you_.

"Opposing the Firelord means opposing the Fire Nation. The Firelord _is_ the Fire Nation."

"That's rhetoric, again. The truth is that the Princess always stood with the Fire Nation and its interests, as she saw them. She's just not on _your_ side. It's all right! Nobody blames you for mistrusting her. You're wise to do so, given her history. Did she ever do anything to earn your trust?"

"No."

"She actually worked against you, didn't she? Thwarted you, held you back, attacked you, did everything in her power to destroy you?"

"Yes."

"Given your relationship, her very presence would cause dissension in the highest ranks of our government? Might even tear our state apart?"

"Yes."

"It would be irresponsible for you to ignore that possibility, wouldn't it? You had to do something to control her, to curb her influence?"

"Yes."

"Well, then."

That's when Zuko gave a roar of rage, sprinted across the floor, and shoved a flaming fist in Ling's smug face.

Zuko blinked. He was still by his chair, Ling was still wearing that satisfied – that infuriating! – smile, and his little fantasy had done nothing to make him feel better. Zuko was still throttling Ling, mentally, when he replied, "You say that as if you've scored a point, senator. Would you care to explain yourself, and how it is that you haven't wasted our time?"

"I'm sorry, I was trying to express our concerns in a way that you could relate to. I thought the parallel was obvious."

"The parallel…"

"Between you and your sister. You just told us why you can't trust her. And yet you expect us to trust you. I think you ask too much."

"Just say it already! Whatever you're trying to say, just say it! Or I swear to Agni-"

"Fine. Since our wise leader needs it spelled out for him…" Ling dropped his air of easy geniality. He leaned forward, suddenly intent and serious. "You don't trust the Princess because she hasn't done anything to earn it. But what reason have you given _us_ to trust _you_?

"You claim that the Princess worked against you. And what have _you_ been doing? We just discussed the fact that you've been catering to the other nations – to our own disadvantage. There are even those who say that you're trying to ruin us on purpose, as a punishment.

"Causing dissension? Tearing the state apart? Our government has been deadlocked and useless ever since you took the throne. You're too stubborn to consider any compromise, and we're too patriotic, too wise, and too principled to consider your crazed policies. As a result, revolt is stirring in our nation for the first time in centuries.

"You threw our Princess in jail because she might endanger the state. You _are_ endangering the state, but we're supposed to put up with it? without any complaint? I say again that you ask too much. Our country is at stake, our families, our honor, our patrimony, our lives – yet you expect us to show you more tolerance than you show your own sister.

"Do you still wonder that we oppose you? You've leashed the Princess; _we_ will leash _you_ if we have to. Or die trying.

"Well, what is it to be? I told you that we would talk about the real issue, and the time has come. My exalted father-in-law, Lord Cheng, asked you what you offer us. Let me make the question even simpler for you. And we will have the answer now, today, this very moment, before we even hear another one of your damned pernicious demands. Until you answer to our satisfaction, we will block your every move, thwart you, fight you at every turn, do everything in our power to limit the damage you're doing.

"So, Azula isn't on your side?" Ling paused. He let the silence hang for a few seconds too long, until expectancy became tension, and tension drama. It was a neat trick: his next words, when they finally came, seemed portentous.

"Firelord Zuko, who's side are _you_ on?"

Zuko's mind went blank. As he recovered from the shock, he noticed that Ling was till insolently sitting in the Firelord's presence, while the Firelord himself was standing – like a fool.

_My god, he compared me to Azula_. Zuko slowly lowered himself back into his chair, groping for something to say. _How can they even ask me that_?

Much later, when Zuko painfully recalled the rest of that hideous meeting, he decided it was all Azula's fault. Ling had mentioned her just to make him angry. If it weren't for that, Zuko swore that what happened next wouldn't have happened.

He was still composing his reply when one of his paid senators rose to answer for him. Zuko almost slapped his forehead. _Now_ he chose to speak? Idiot!

The prosy fool began to praise the glories of Zuko's reign. He no doubt thought he was earning the Firelord's gratitude. Although he was middle-aged, he had never risen above the lowest government posts. As he rambled on, it wasn't hard to see why.

By the time he got to the Firelord's "endless and all-embracing beneficence," Zuko felt ready to sink through the floor. Strangely, it was Ling who ended his torment.

"Shut up, Shun." Ling's tone was pleasant.

Shun bristled. "What, Sir? What?"

"I said, _shut up_."

"I have a right to speak, Sir!"

"Yes, but not a love sonnet. This is the senate, man, not the Firelord's bedroom."

Shun's jowly face turned beet red. "What are you implying, Sir?"

"I imply nothing. It's a fact that you're singing about him like a lovesick poet."

"My honest opinion, Sir! The Firelord is leading us to greatness."

"Spare me. We all know that a month ago you were about to lose everything. Suddenly your debt is gone, and you've crawled into bed with the Firelord. It's being said-"

Ling checked himself. He looked around apologetically. "I'm sorry, Lords. What I'm about to say is unworthy of the dignity of this esteemed assembly. I wouldn't mention it, you understand, except that I'm reporting the words of others." He looked back to Shun. "It's being said, Shun, that you're sucking the Firelord's cock for money."

Shun's eyeballs started from their sockets. "How dare you!"

"I'm sure they don't mean it literally," Ling said soothingly.

"You damned smooth-tongued ass licker! You'll suck _my_ cock, you mincing, prancing, butt-wiggling whore!" Shun launched into a fluent tirade of glorious scurrility. In the senate, insult was an art and a tradition, honed by generations of feuding politicians. Shun put all those lessons to good use now: he attacked Ling's family and manhood, his character, his intelligence, his hygiene, looks, sex life, and thinning hair. Through it all, Ling sat smiling serenely, as if he were listening to birds singing on a lovely spring day.

Shun was accusing Ling of unnatural relations with his mother and his dog, when a strange noise caught his attention. He broke off and looked towards the source, along with everyone else.

It was Cheng: his head had sunk down to his chest, and he was snoring.

Suddenly he jerked awake. Cheng looked around comically. "What? Is he finally done?"

Everyone laughed, except Shun. The great Cheng had made him the butt of a joke; it was clearly a deflating experience. Slowly he sat down, his mouth working soundlessly.

Zuko opened his own mouth to say something, but he never got the chance. Apparently Shun's little farce had inspired the others. The unnatural order and silence gave way to standard operating procedure: barely controlled mayhem.

Someone called out to Ling. "He was right about one thing, Ling. You are a dirty cheat!"

A person on the opposite side of the room answered. "You're just sulking because Ling beat you in the last election. Do you really want to bring that up…Fuzzy Buns?"

_Fuzzy buns_? Zuko had no idea what he was referring to, but clearly everybody else did. They all burst out laughing.

A third man stood up and bowed to the wit. "Well done, Sir!"

The witty one bowed back. "I appreciate your appreciation, Sir."

A notoriously bad-tempered senator interrupted their mutual admiration. "You damned bleeding-heart populists are thick as thieves, aren't you? Still congratulating yourselves on stealing money from hard-working businessmen!"

The man sitting across the aisle rolled his eyes. "Selfish prick. That law had to be passed. Do you expect us to feel sorry for you because you eat off silver plates now instead of gold?"

There was a nasty reply, but the end of the speech was drowned out as the rest of the senate lost interest and started their own conversations.

Zuko eyed the noisy mob. He noticed that the selfish prick and the eye-roller were standing toe-to-toe and yelling angrily. Just then one of them took a swing. As they struggled, everyone around them watched, like they were enjoying a prize fight.

_This isn't a senate_, thought Zuko, _this is a fucking circus_. He turned to Sho. "Sho, call them to order." It was so loud in the room that Zuko could barely hear himself above the uproar.

Sho must have guessed what he was saying. The sharp rap of his staff was more piercing than any voice, and he was famous for his strong lungs. Soon he had the attention of the lowest rows. As they fell silent, the others started to notice and gradually stopped talking as well.

_That's right_. _I'm the Firelord, you have to listen to me_. When the whole room had stilled, Zuko said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your chitchat, gentlemen, but we have business to attend to. Lord Ling asked me a question, and I intend to answer it."

Once again, Zuko was about to make his speech – which he'd been carefully polishing this whole time – but someone cut him off.

"To hell with that! What I want to know is, when are you going to get rid of those Dirtbenders trying to steal our land?"

Zuko threw caution to the winds. They weren't the only ones who could be stubborn and unreasonable. "No, to hell with _you_. That's not the issue here. I refuse to answer anyone who interrupts or changes the subject. Now-"

"Just answer!"

"Answer!"

Suddenly they all rose as one, as if the thought had instantaneously communicated itself from one mind to another. It was uncanny: Zuko actually felt a shiver go down his back.

They extended their arms and pointed at him, every man among them. And they chanted in unison.

"Answer!"

"Answer!"

"Answer!"

"Answer!"

"Answer!"

There was anger in that many-voiced roar, and violence. All at once Zuko realized how exhausted he was. How he was soaked with sweat, how his head ached, how he was sitting on the edge of his seat, every muscle tight and screaming from tension.

But he wasn't afraid. He was sure of it. Never that…

"Never!"

Their shouting drowned him out, so he kept on screaming. Eventually they noticed that he was trying to speak, and trailed off.

Zuko squared his shoulders. "Never. It doesn't matter if they're Earth Kingdom subjects: I will never use force on innocent people, who are just trying to reclaim their ancestral land." He narrowed his eyes meaningfully. "Certainly not when my own people don't act with honor."

The room erupted: some booed, some hissed, others cursed him. One man in the front row spat on the floor.

Contrary to all law and sacred tradition, Zuko unleashed a mighty blast of firebending while the senate was in session. "Enough!" They all stared at him, shocked. "Enough! This isn't working. We have problems to solve, and all you do is shout me down?"

Ling answered, in that witheringly dry tone of his. "But we _are_ solving a problem: you."

It wasn't even funny; Zuko swore it wasn't. But the entire senate burst into laughter.

_Oh my god_. The eggs Zuko had for breakfast curdled in his stomach. They were all _laughing_ at him – over six hundred older men, many of them war heroes or senior statesmen.

_They would never have treated my father like this_. _They wouldn't have dared_. For a moment Zuko thought he was going to throw up. _Or Azula_.

Suddenly Zuko was _angry_. Like a fire roaring to life, and dispelling the darkness that was there before, fury completely (and mercifully) overwhelmed shame. Except for the fact that he was now uncomfortably hot, Zuko felt _wonderful_.

_The problem isn't me, it's you_. For a change, they were all looking at him expectantly, waiting for his reply. Zuko smiled: it was full of teeth.

"Well, gentlemen, I see that our views are too different: we won't come to an agreement in one day. Hopefully, after we've all had time to think about these matters with a cooler head, we'll be able to work something out. But before the session is adjourned, I would like to inform you of a measure I plan to undertake independently, as High Commander of our armed forces. I suspect that it might be unpopular, so I wanted to tell the senate in advance, as a courtesy."

Zuko noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A wisp of smoke was curling up lazily from the arm of his wooden chair, where his fingertips were resting on it.

"I've been thinking about a way to appease the other nations – something symbolic, that will earn their trust and make them ease up on their other demands. I believe I've found something. As you all know, it takes a while to process commendations. The war office investigates every claim before it awards military honors. There are still years' worth of cases to work through."

_Don't do this, Zuko_. The small voice of warning in his head sounded like Mai; it usually did. He ignored it.

"I've decided to cancel all outstanding claims. From this time forward, the Fire Nation will not honor or condone the acts of violence perpetrated in an unjust war."

Zuko saw horror blossom on the faces opposite, as comprehension dawned. A new thought occurred to him, and he pushed gleefully on.

"I'm also considering – but you understand that I would never do anything so drastic, except with careful forethought, and by necessity. I may retroactively cancel all military honors awarded over the past hundred years. I realize this will be hard for you to accept. Get used to it now, in case the worst happens."

He silently congratulated himself on his brilliant stroke of inspiration. Members of the nobility liked to show off their family's military honors. They displayed them in the reception halls of their great houses, where everybody could see them. Military honors were one more path to prestige, one more form of political currency. This hit them where it would hurt.

Zuko had half-expected someone to attack him. But the actual result was so much better: everybody was staring at him in stupefied silence.

He had finally shut them up.

Predictably, Ling recovered first. He sprang up in one fluid motion, as if he were made of steel springs. Apparently anger made him lithe. Zuko had never known him to show strong emotion, but he was clearly livid now.

"You selfish, disrespectful, unprincipled _brat_! My brother is still waiting for his medal. An earthbender crushed his leg at Ba Sing Se. He's always in pain; he'll never walk again without a crutch. Is that going to be his only reward for serving his country?"

"We should never have attacked Ba Sing Se. Why should we reward someone who was injured while trying to murder innocent people? I'm sorry about your brother, but don't act like his injury is something glorious. It means nothing."

"If it means nothing to you, that's because you don't know the meaning of honor!"

"Watch it!" Zuko's eye twitched, and a blood vessel started throbbing in his temple. "Don't talk to me about honor! I know you all know how I got _this_," Zuko pointed at his scar. "Some of you were there when I got it. My father taught me a lesson about your so-called 'honor'…on my face! It took me three years away from this…this pit of corruption – three years of misery and hardship – to learn about true honor."

"You've learned nothing. If this is your idea of honor, then your father was right to banish you, o Traitor Prince. Do you think you were suffering when you were cruising around on your very own ship? Ha! Try holding an outpost against an enemy siege for ten months, living on shoe leather and rats! _Those_ men know misery and hardship. And you want to deprive them of recognition…just to get back at us!"

"Just to get back at you? You're out of line!"

"I'm right; _you_ are out of line. You're doing this for the same reason you do everything: to satisfy your ego. You've never done anything for anybody else.

"Now who's 'just getting back' at who? I left behind everything – my fortune, my family, my crown – to help the Avatar, to help the world."

"Oh, yes, we all know how much you sacrificed for your little quest, _Firelord_ Zuko. Your sister was the one who was going to succeed your father. You didn't lose a crown, you gained one – over the bodies of your own family."

Zuko might have lost it then and there, if Ling's next move hadn't shocked him into immobility.

Ling put his hand up. "Stop! Whatever you're about to say, I don't want to hear it. I don't even want to look at you right now."

"You dare…you _dare_ tell the Firelord to shut up?" Zuko's voice was an infuriated hiss; it was hard to form words when your brain was a seething mass of white-hot rage.

"A senate meeting is a sacred space. I dare because this is _our_ place for _us_ to discuss _our_ concerns, and for you to listen. So _we_ will discuss, and you will listen. The gods know you don't listen the rest of the time."

Ling stalked down the stairs, so that the _thump thump_ of his booted heels punctuated his next words. "Gentlemen of the senate, distinguished lords, chosen spokesmen of our nation, sometimes a moment comes when your own choices have vast consequences for others. The Firelord just said that we have no honor. I say that honor comes from a man's decisions. We can claim our honor right here and now, in the presence of our doubting Firelord. We have a decision to make, and we must choose what's best for our people, who entrusted their welfare to us. We must choose honor."

Ling had reached the bottom of the stairs. He walked out into the center space, where he could face his audience. That meant that his back was turned to Zuko. The symbolism was clear.

"Will we embrace this man's leadership? _Can_ we accept, or even ignore, it? You heard him. He wants us to bend the knee to our own subjects. He denies the courage of our nation's defenders. He condemns the achievements of our ancestors.

"Who is he to despise the blood, sweat, and toil of others? When has he ever struggled on our behalf? What good has he ever won for our country?

"You know how he fared in the crisis. You know how he failed the test. On the Day of Black Sun, invaders came from the sea to strike at the heart of our nation. We've all seen what happens after an invasion. We can all imagine the horror that would have engulfed our people, if the attack had been successful. With our homeland lying open and vulnerable, hostile armies would have poured in, hungry for loot and vengeance. They would have killed our men, raped our women and children, burned our homes, polluted our altars with human blood.

"And he chose that moment to abandon us! While other boys his age were fighting and dying to prevent the ultimate evil, he defected to the enemy! Leaving his father and sister – his _little_ sister – to defend us.

"_This _man belittles our champions? _This_ man spits on our past? He has no right. And until he proves himself worthy, he has no right to our obedience. The choice is before us. It's not just about politics or policy. It's about the soul of our nation. Will we let this…this _stranger_ without the shadow of honor, who has no love nor loyalty for our homeland – will we let him drag us and our people wherever he wants? Will we meekly allow it, with no protest and no resistance?

"Our people selected you, gentlemen of the senate, to speak for them. Speak now, or risk failing in your sacred trust."

Once more everyone heard the _thump thump_ as Ling moved. His footfalls were loud and distinct in the dead silence.

He made his way to Cheng. "Sir, could you please stand up?"

Cheng stood. His back was ramrod straight, his lined face stern and expressionless.

Ling addressed the crowd once more. "See who it is, senators, that you will fail – if you let the Firelord have his way. See the price of true honor and sacrifice, which will never be repaid – if you let the Firelord have his way. See…and ask yourself what honor demands of _you_."

He lowered his voice a bit and spoke to Cheng. "I'm sorry, Sir." Then Ling reached out, grabbed Cheng's robe where it fastened at the shoulder, and ripped it down.

Suddenly Cheng's chest was bare – and the entire senate gasped at the sight. The old soldier's flesh was a mass of hardened tissue from neck to navel: ugly, twisted, puckered, angry, raw, discolored. The grotesque mementos from a lifetime of hard campaigning.

Although Cheng was now standing half-naked in the middle of the senate, with his disfigurement exposed for all to see, his steady gaze never wavered. He continued to stare off into the middle distance, like a general coming to a hard decision. Even Ozai, a consummate actor, would have envied this show of proud gravity and stoic self-control.

Ling looked straight into Zuko's eyes. "The Firelord isn't the only person with a scar."

A few, awful heartbeats later, Cheng finally spoke. "Son-in-law, today is the anniversary of my victory at Pydna. I must make a sacrifice to the gods and my ancestors, in thanksgiving. Will you come with me?"

"Of course, Sir."

With Ling at his side, Cheng started a slow and stately march to the exit.

"I'm coming too." A senator in the front row jumped up and went after the small procession.

"Me too."

"And me."

Nobody said anything else, they simply followed. It took long, nerve-wracking minutes for the entire senate to empty out of the room. For all those long minutes, Zuko sat mute and frozen. The sustaining fury was fast evaporating, leaving him cold and sick.

The senate minutes had never been published for public viewing, but it didn't matter. Even if the senators didn't talk about this – and they would – there were other witnesses. Great men always had hangers-on, and the edges of the senate chamber were packed with them: a shadowy enclave of personal attendants, secretaries, and bodyguards. The lower orders had their own ways of spreading gossip. By tomorrow morning, everyone in the Fire Nation would know about this debacle.

But maybe something could be salvaged, even from this.

As soon as the last senator had gone, Zuko turned to Sho. "Sho, a law can only be passed by senators who are present. Does that mean I can pass something now?"

"No, My Lord. For a law to be passed, at least two hundred senators must take part in the vote."

"But they left. That means they lose their rights for the rest of this meeting."

"The senate as a body has the right of secession. For the rest of this meeting, nothing can be done."

"I can end this meeting, and call another one right now. If nobody comes, then-"

"Then you still won't have a quorum of two hundred. But you cannot end this meeting, My Lord. There must be a sacrifice to Agni at the beginning of the session, to bless our counsels, and one at the end, to bless our undertakings. A sacrifice requires yourself and at least five other nobles, but the nobles have left."

"So this meeting can't end until we make the sacrifice? But no one is here to do it! The meeting can't go on forever."

"No, nothing lasts forever. All state business officially ends at the New Year, when you perform the year-closing sacrifice for the entire nation."

"The New Year! That's months from now. So you're saying that I can't pass anything without the senate, but I can't reconvene the senate, either?"

"That is correct."

_Ambushed, routed, cut off at the rear_. Zuko slumped in his seat and ran a hand through his hair. He noticed that the hand was shaking.

"Great. That's just great. Thanks for all the help, Sho. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't know how hard I've been screwed."

"The rules exist for a reason, My Lord. As does the senate."

Zuko looked at him sharply. "You too?"

Sho's aged face was inscrutable. "The Council Master takes no sides. I am the Firelord's servant. And the senate's."

He stood up, bowing slightly. "May Agni light your way, Firelord, and give you sight to see with." Then he too turned his back and left.

Leaving Zuko alone.

.o0o.

Zuko wouldn't have believed it, but most of the senators were just as upset as he was. They slunk back to their houses, singly or in huddled groups. Conversation was hushed and tense, for those who felt like talking. The silent ones nursed their fear in silence. No one doubted that an earth-shattering storm was coming. Could it be avoided, now that the Firelord had lost control so completely? When it broke, how best to weather the disaster?

A few had long since decided to welcome the storm, and even to help it along. One of them was Satoru. As he sat alone in his travelling carriage, he muttered to himself, nodding occasionally. Every now and then he chuckled, and rubbed his small, bony hands together.

His good mood didn't prevent him from stiffing the coachman. The man had driven all afternoon and through most of the night – under a moonless sky – to deliver His Lordship to his country seat in good time. Normally a hefty tip would be in order.

Satoru waved a coin under the coachman's nose. "Do you think these grow on trees? Do you? Well, smell it! That's not cherry blossoms, you fool, that's the stench of my blood, sweat, and tears."

He shoved the coin back into his pouch. "The ride was too rough. If you want my money, learn to drive and earn it."

When he got inside, he had his secretary rousted out of bed. Technically this could wait until morning, but Satoru was too wound up, and too full of anticipation, to put it off.

As he dictated his message, Satoru felt a deep, pleasurable swell of satisfaction. Long ago, a short-sighted member of House Yoshida had sold a piece of land to Satoru's own family. He hadn't realized that the sea was the future: the piece of land overlooked a fine harbor.

Since then, Satoru's family had grown rich and powerful from their harbor and their ships. Ninety years ago Sozin had made them nobles. The Yoshida, on the other hand, had fallen into genteel poverty. Despite that, they still treated Satoru like a peasant, a peasant who was squatting on their land. He smiled as he imagined Zhen's face, when he heard this magnificent piece of condescension.

Zhen, Head of House Yoshida, was eating lunch with his family when the messenger arrived. They all listened, blank-faced, as the man made a flowery speech, and worked up to his real point.

Finally he said, "Lord Satoru believes that it is finally time to end the long rift between his House and yours, Lord Zhen. He is prepared to make a gesture that will benefit _your_ House greatly, and give _him_ great satisfaction."

A dangerous light kindled in Zhen's eye, but the messenger went on heedlessly. "He proposes a marriage between his son and your eldest daughter."

Zhen's family – which consisted of his mother, wife, sister-in-law, and five daughters – erupted into a flurry of female enthusiasm.

"Oohhh, Satoshi! He's so handsome!" squealed Emiko, his oldest daughter.

"And rich!" cackled his mother.

His sister-in-law smiled crookedly. "Such a well-endowed young man! If his…err…hidden assets match the rest, then I envy you, Emiko."

Zhen brought his heavy fist crashing down on the table. "Enough! I am the master of this House, and no daughter of mine is going to marry the bastard of that jumped-up tradesman!"

He ignored the sounds of dismay all around him, and addressed the messenger. "You! I want you to tell him everything I say. Tell Satoru that he's an evil, ferret-faced, rat-spawned half-breed. All the money in the world can't change the fact that he's nothing but a damned cargo-hauler. My family can trace its history back to the War of the Three Rivers, and you can't buy quality like that! Tell him that he's not fit for my daughter to wipe her feet on!

"And, even if he were the Firelord himself, it's not like that so-called son of his is anything to brag about. Any idiot can see that that great, strapping lug didn't come from Satoru's scrawny body. I won't have my daughter married to the whelp of god-knows-who and a whore…"

Zhen went on for several minutes, then he made the embarrassed messenger repeat everything he had said. Occasionally he made an addition or a correction, enjoying himself hugely.

After he sent the unfortunate man on his way, the squalling began.

"Oh Daddy, no!" sobbed Emiko.

"So rich!" moaned his mother.

His youngest daughter pointed at him accusingly. "Daddy, Emi wants you to say _yes_."

His wife sighed, thinking of her poor, neglected flower beds. "I could have hired a gardener to help me with the roses…"

"Your flower beds don't matter. We'll make do, like we always have. We're better off without help from trash like that." When his daughter made another, strangled protest, Zhen patted her hand consolingly. "There, there, Em. I promise I'll find you someone better. Like a manure salesman, or a pig farmer."

She burst into tears. Zhen went back to his lunch, and let the scolding wash over him. He would be in disgrace for the next few days, but he endured it with his usual, deep contentment. Although he often complained to his friends about living with "a whole damned flock of pecking hens," Zhen secretly enjoyed the attention of fussing women. He wouldn't have traded a single one of his girls for a half-dozen boys.

Satoru and his son, Satoshi, got their answer while they were eating dinner. The messenger delivered a carefully revised version, but Satoru read between the lines.

He tried to look sorry. "Well, we gave them a chance. But those who stand in the way of change are often swept away by it. Progress can't be made without sacrifice."

Satoshi didn't even try to look sorry. "I'm glad I don't have to marry Emiko." He took a sip of wine. "Her tits are too big."

_Too big_? For the first time, Satoru seriously wondered whether the rumors were true, and Satoshi wasn't his son after all.

He looked at Satoshi's thick, dark hair, his handsome face, strong arms, and magnificent shoulders. Satoru's own, narrow chest puffed up proudly. No, of course Satoshi was his son. Anyone could see that the boy came from good stock.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable, masculine silence, broken only by the clink of silver forks on crystal plates. At the end, Satoru thought a toast was in order.

"Any day now, Satoshi. I tell you, the Firelord is weak. One more setback will break his hold completely. And then we'll have our chance. We'll show everyone what true greatness looks like, and the old families will be sorry for spitting on us all these years." He lifted his glass. "To a bold, new future."

Satoshi raised his own glass. "_Our_ future."


	4. Crossroads

**Hello all! I hope you're enjoying your summer. Yet again, I have to apologize for taking so long to update. I'm trying to work on my dissertation – I need to graduate at some point. But after a day spent reading and writing for my job, I often find it hard to write more. This chapter grew a sentence or two at a time – or a word or two at a time – in five to ten minute snatches before bed every night. After all this waiting, I hope you enjoy it at least a little bit.**

**You've all been more consistent about reviewing than I have been about posting. I don't deserve the reviews…but if you leave them anyway, I'll be very happy indeed.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 4 – Crossroads<p>

The old man was seated in a sliver of shade, leaning back against the wall.

Azula jerked her head to the right, toward the short, swinging doors. "They say this is the place for a person to get a drink."

Dark juice was dribbling down his chin. He turned his head and spat; the wooden planks at his feet were already dark and spotted with old tobacco stains.

"They say."

She didn't think about him anymore, but pushed through the strange doorway. Inside she could see dust motes floating in the sunlight. Azula watched them for a moment and felt the daytime heat beating at her back.

She took another step, out of the light and into the dark interior. She stopped again, to let her eyes adjust.

Then she knew she had made a mistake. This was a place for men. They were grouped around tables and playing cards, mostly. Some just talked or drank. Or did all three.

Voices stopped, cards stilled, and heads turned as she entered. Only the musician in the corner missed his cue, and kept on strumming his chords. Azula stood her ground, meeting stare with stare, mildly. She couldn't back down now, and couldn't afford to start a fight.

A hand snaked out to pat the rump of a passing serving-girl. She laughed; the shrill sound was too bright for the dull room, and too brittle to be sincere. But it broke the spell. Having decided that she was neither a threat nor easy prey, everyone forgot about Azula and went back to their business.

Azula walked slowly, deliberately, weighed down by a huge and heavy weariness. The shoes she bought from Aunt Kei fit her badly, chafing her poor, abused feet. She must no limp though – not ever, and not in front of this crowd.

There were too many of them for the small space, too many for the whole town. And they had the stale, unwashed smell of soldiers on the march.

She sat down on a stool. The man behind the bar put on his best smile: it was oily and full of crooked teeth. A woman was seated nearby – another employee, to judge by her tight, plunging dress. A gigantic feather curled from one side of her head down the other. The face beneath didn't suit the gaudy finery. It was lined and hard to the point of brutality, its mouth a jagged slash with a cigarillo dangling out the corner.

The bartender's snaky grin stretched itself wider. "What will it be, sweetheart?" He flourished his cleaning rag.

"Wine. Hunan red, if you have it."

He stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Hunan red! Very good! Very good!" Even the brick-faced whore twitched her lips.

He poured something brown into a small glass. "Would the young lady like something to eat?"

She glanced at the woman's half-eaten meal; her empty stomach rose in revolt. It looked almost as bad as it smelled. A man to Azula's right was peeling an apple with a wicked-looking knife. He seemed to have the right idea.

"Fruit. Do you have any fruit?"

When he had set it in front of her, she saw that it was bruised. Azula had bought a small knife from Aunt Kei. She took it out now and began to cut away the rot. And considered her next move.

She tried to look bored. It wasn't hard. After many minutes she said, casually, by way of killing time, "You're a long way from anywhere, soldier."

The man to her right grunted.

Azula decided to insult his superiors. Soldiers always loved that. "What idiot sent you to this mudhole?"

"Money."

A mercenary. She wasn't surprised: he had the look about him.

Azula waited. Her skin itched under its days-old coating of grime. A fly hovered over her plate of fruit. When she caught herself staring at it, she shook away the blank stupor. But Azula could still feel it flitting at the edges of her mind, like a whole swarm of buzzing flies.

"Must be good money."

"Good enough."

Her exhaustion betrayed her. She actually closed her eyes for a moment; a tiny sigh slipped out into the hot, still air. Of course this wouldn't be easy. Nothing was anymore.

"Do you need a job, sweetheart? I might be able to find something for a pretty, young girl like yourself. I'm the soft-hearted sort."

The bartender fixed his crooked smile on her, and his unwavering, protuberant eyes. On the second floor, one of the many doors opened and closed. Azula caught the swish of a skirt, the deep sound of masculine laughter.

"I'm not the staying-sort. I follow the call of Lady Fortune." She turned to the mercenary. "It's the Fire Nation isn't it? Hassling them always pay better than picking on dirt-civvies."

That was bold, but necessary. Azula had come to a crossroads, and needed to make a decision – for herself and for her nation. Before she could do it, though, she needed information. She had been dodging companies of soldiers for days.

Azula knew troop movements when she saw them.

He considered her for the first time. His face was still and placid, almost bovine. But Azula had seen his big, blunt fingers wielding the wicked-looking knife – with a cool precision that any surgeon might envy.

The lazy eyes under their sleepy lids never left her face. "Why would a little girl like you want to know something like that?"

She realized how she must look to him. How young and weak. She allowed herself a tight smile. "Even little girls like money. And this one has a very special skill set." Then, for good measure, Azula knocked back her entire glass of brown alcohol.

It immediately came back out – all over the bar. Azula coughed and wheezed as the burning liquid stung her throat and dribbled out her nose. When she was done, she saw that the others were staring at her.

"I need a war," she said, as if nothing had happened, "you understand how it is."

The bartender jumped in. "You're not like to get one, if the hearsay is true. The new Firelord ain't one for a fight."

The merc knew better. "I've never met a firebender who wasn't game for a fight." He still had Azula in the corner of his eye. "Man or woman."

"Still, they say," the bartender persisted, "they say that this one is peacable as a monk."

"More like a sheep. If he ignores the barons much longer, then he's a coward or a fool."

"It's just the barons?"

"Barons, dukes, kings, any so-called 'lord' of the shithole with big plans and coin to spare."

"They're after land."

"Fire-nation land," the merc agreed. "My noble employer says he's reclaiming what belonged to his family. He just smells easy pickings, like the rest of them. Actually thinks he can take what the Fire Nation doesn't want to give him."

"But he won't get it?" the bartender pressed. "It's hard, in these parts, to know what to do. We've got to stay on the right side."

"He won't get it. None of them will. They'll all lose their little kingdoms, and probably their heads besides. Unless the firelord is a sheep instead of a man." The merc took a sip of his drink, thoughtfully. "And unless the big players decide to join the party. They might, too, just to beat up on the Fire Nation. More the fool them."

The bartender wiped his clean counter again, with short, spastic strokes. Maybe the motion soothed his nerves. His voice was vague and distracted. "More the fool them. If…"

He never finished the thought. He didn't have to. They silently filled in the awful conditional, all the shattering _if_'s and _then_'s and their terrible ramifications.

"I can't imagine his nobles will stand for it," Azula prompted. "I've heard there's unrest in the Fire Nation."

"Plenty. It's only a matter of time before someone busts out the old man. The boys and I are placing bets on it."

A spidery, many-fingered fluttering crept up Azula's chest and clutched at her heart. She realized it was her own hand. _A very important question_.

Icy shock froze her thoughts and numbed her limbs. _A very basic question_.

Doctor Soong warned her, but she hadn't listened. _There's a very, very important question you haven't asked yet_. _A very basic question_.

_What happened to my father?_

"…may have been a dangerous man to serve, but Ozai never gave an inch to the other nations. Bet his people never thought they'd want him back."

_He's still alive_.

"We been lucky. The informers never bothered us here. Not enough money in this whole town to make it worth their while"

_He's waiting for me_. _I'm supposed to win his throne back_. She just knew it, like the girl in the story knew that _it_ was waiting for her, right behind the forbidden door.

"We've been lucky too. Ozai was good for business."

Azula had been dropped into the void and couldn't find herself again. The whole world with all its actors seemed very distant. She could only sit – silent and unmoving – as the great tragicomedy played itself out around her.

"Thing is, the question-"

_The question_, whatever it was, hung unanswered on the gritty air. A group of men had claimed the bartender's attention. They smelled like pack animals and crushed pine needle. One of them drummed his fingers against his thigh.

When they left, the bartender said, "What about General Iroh?"

"What about him?"

"Think he'll get involved?"

"Does it matter?"

"Guess not."

There was a shriek from upstairs, and something crashing against the wall. Downstairs, in the boisterous swell of rough hedonism, barely a ripple marked its passing.

The bartender went on polishing his glasses. "Wasn't there another one?"

"Another what?"

"Royal brat."

"Lu Ten?"

"No, Ozai's."

The merc paused. "A girl."

The conversation was starting to bore them. The bartender applied his cloth to an imaginary spot, arranged and rearranged his glasses minutely before asking, idly, "What was her name, again?"

They stared at each other, shrugged, and settled into mutual indifference.

Azula opened her mouth to tell them her _name_, but choked on it.

"Boss, one of the girls is saying she won't work today. Not after the last one roughed her up." A woman had appeared behind the bar.

Rage wiped the oil-slicked geniality from the bartender's face. "Well she ain't getting paid for nothing!" He turned to the other woman. "Go straighten her out!"

She looked at him. Only the thin wisp of tobacco smoke moved, curling up in lazy tendrils past her left ear.

"Go on! Get!" He raised his hand in threat.

She looked at him still. The plank she wore instead of a face betrayed nothing. Finally she stubbed the cigarillo in the greasy remains of her food. She rose slowly and made her slow way across the floor, limping badly on one leg. A mystery in a cheap dress with eyes like black diamond.

That one knew her name, even if no one else did.

The bartender watched her go. "I'll say this, your boys have been good for business. The girls and I can hardly keep up."

"War is usually good business, if you play it right."

"Dangerous business."

"Learn or die. There will always be some royal bastard grabbing what he can get. They're all alike."

The bartender still looked doubtful. He poured himself a drink.

The mercenary raised his. "To endless war."

The other shrugged. "To endless coin." They drank.

The bartender went back to his work and the mercenary to his reverie. Rough customers came and went; Azula stayed in her one-man wasteland, gathering dust. It settled into the planes of her skin and hugged the curves. Sweat dripped down her temples and slid between her breasts and pooled at her lower back. She didn't bother to wipe it off: the man in the corner was playing her song. It was joyless, pointless, and nameless.

When she finally moved, it was late afternoon. Fat, buttery light oozed through the dingy windows and left streaks on the floor, like lard slathered in gigantic swathes over the grey boards.

Someone touched her wrist. She shuddered, and focused her eyes. It was the bartender.

The smile and the teeth were still there, but sharper and harder. "You gonna pay for that honey?" He nodded towards her empty plate. "I ain't running a charity outfit."

He had touched her. That was unforgivable. "I'm not your honey, and I'll pay you when I'm good-and-gods-damned-ready."

"Aw, no money, sweetheart?" The smile grew wider, more predatory. "Well I can't just let anyone come in here and drink for free, can I? I'm an honest businessman. I've got people to think of. I've got responsibilities. We'll just have to find a way for you to work off your debt."

His hand closed around her wrist. And stayed there.

Azula rose out of her seat. "I always repay my debts, peasant. _All_ of them. There's a dead man in hell who will tell you so, if you want to meet him."

He froze, staring into her face.

She smiled, and let him see her own teeth.

He was still holding her wrist. Azula reached over with her other arm and clasped his offending limb. "You'll get your coin, but _I want this hand_."

A restraining hand fell on her right shoulder.

She forgot about the bartender and turned to the interfering mercenary. Before he could do anything about it, Azula had sunk her knife deep into the bar top – right between two of his splayed fingers.

Before she could do anything about it, he had driven his fist hard into her diaphragm.

He was a strong man, and she hadn't been prepared for such swift retaliation. Azula doubled over, gagging, and stumbled backwards. Then she was falling as her heel caught on something behind her – a foot, as it turned out. Two of the mercenary's cronies expertly tripped and immobilized her in the space of a gasping breath.

She threw herself forward against the restraining arms, almost dislocating her shoulders in the process. "You…" It was hard to talk when she was still having trouble inhaling. "You dare," she hissed. "I will destroy you for your insolence!"

The mercenary was regarding her calmly but with a hint of confusion, as if she were a puzzle he couldn't quite figure out. "I doubt it," he said easily.

His indifference infuriated her. "I challenge you to an Agni Kai! Meet me at the sun-up in the local sparring facilities. The crushing agony of defeat will teach you some respect!"

"I don't waste my time on amateurs. Not for free, anyway."

Azula willed the fire to flow, to throw off her puny captors in a concussive explosion of power.

_Oh_. She had forgotten.

He stepped towards her. By the time he reached for her belt, she had already calculated the odds. They weren't good. The bruising grip on her arms tightened, but they needn't have bothered.

Azula stood quietly and watched as a man stole the last of her worldly goods.

The mercenary reached into her pouch of money. He extracted two coins and tossed them to the bartender. The rest he dumped into his own pocket.

The room had fallen silent. Everyone was watching her. She tried to work moisture into her suddenly dry mouth, tried to find the words that would transform her humiliation into triumph.

There were no words. No words to fix this, no words to fix anything.

The moment stretched on. She had to say something. "I-" Azula felt, rather than saw, all the mercenaries in the room tensing up, waiting for their commander's cue. She couldn't face that. Not today.

Azula looked away, signaling her submission. He wouldn't accept anything less in front of his men.

"I get angry sometimes I do things I shouldn't do," she blurted out. Shame threatened to swallow her up.

Still nothing. Something inside Azula gave way, her whole body sagging as the invisible supports collapsed in on themselves. She lowered her head and spoke to the floor. "I'm sorry. I'm very tired. I would like to go now."

She blinked away tears. "Please."

The bartender spread his hands expansively. His smile was back. "No need to worry, honey. We're all friends here."

"You're crazy, kid," said the merc, not unkindly. "Go back home to your mother."

His men half-dragged, half-carried her out to the street and threw her in the dirt. She led with her head, her face scraping the stony ground. The blow jarred her collection of bruises, sent pain shooting along her sore ribs. One arm twisted up beneath her; the other came to rest in a steaming pile of shit.

The unforgiving sun beat down, dong its best to grind her to nothing against the harsh and filthy grit. Agni's great eye saw everything and knew her sins.

She got up and walked away, drifting through town like the wind-blown sand. It was often the case with these tiny, no-name border settlements. They perched uneasily between the lush, coastal might of the Fire Nation colonies and the Earth Kingdom's dry, colossal bulk. You never knew, from day-to-day, what might blow through, borne on strange and shifting currents.

She came to the crossroads, the sign told her futures. One way led back to the colonies, back to the sea, and eventually all the way back to the very beginning, the islands of the Fire Nation and the imperial capital. The other led onward, deep into the heart of the Earth Kingdom and a new life.

If she went back to the colonies, there were people there she could contact. She would turn up at a certain house in the dead of night and she would knock on the door. Messages would be sent, plots laid, and the entire machinery of royal intrigue set in motion. Within three months she would have her throne back.

A throne with no fire, a crown with no allies, a queen with no family, no friends. No power. They would eat her alive. Men with power – men like Huang and Shen and Hiro – they would control her as easily as the mercenary just had. More easily, and with less compassion.

But her people were suffering. Dissension was tearing through the ranks, threatening to split the nation apart from within. Without, shadowy forces were gathering at the edges – whole armies of vultures waiting to pick at the remains.

It was her duty and her burden – her privilege! – to go back, to crush any and all opposition. To sit the lonely throne, to find a solution to every problem, to fight and fight and fight for the rest of her life…or until there was nothing left to fight with.

She could.

She would.

She would…

Her thoughts broke and splintered, like glass shattering.

She turned her back to the sun and her feet to the east, toward the vast, hostile continent, toward that ancient last resort, the final destination of a million desperate souls: Ba Sing Se.

Ba Sing Se, where the small and nameless went to hide.


	5. A Day in the Life

**Whoa! I'm alive! And so is this story! It never died; I've been working on it off and on since I posted the last chapter, so very long ago. However, I've spent the last year writing my dissertation and applying for jobs, which means that I've written many, many pages of material over the past months – all of it non-fiction. The fanfiction only gets done when I simply can't work on my dissertation anymore, and when I actually have the brainpower to spare. Which isn't often. I am so tired.**

**I dream of a day when I can devote more time to fiction. Perhaps that day will come. Until then, many thanks to anyone who's still interested enough to follow this story. I was especially grateful for the feedback after the last chapter. I engaged in some stylistic experimentation, and had the feeling that it wasn't entirely successful. Your reviews confirmed my initial impression. Lesson learned!**

**After the huge wait, I wish I had a more action-packed chapter for you. Alas, this is one final bit of necessary scene-setting. The s**t doesn't really hit the fan until the next chapter…**

* * *

><p>Chapter 5 – A Day in the Life<p>

The lines seemed to wiggle and blur on the page. Zuko snapped the scroll shut. It wouldn't do to let the man know that his Firelord was barely literate.

He covered by pretending that he understood what he was looking at. He thought he had a pretty good guess, given the way his life had been going lately.

"So we're in trouble."

"Yes, My Lord."

Like everything else, reading and math had come hard to Zuko. As a small child, he had struggled and fought, long and hard, to impose order on the unruly masses of squiggles, and wrestle some sort of meaning out of them.

Now the Procurator of the Imperial Fiscus was waving scroll after scroll in the Firelord's face, as if that would make everything clear. Columns marched in neat rows across the pages, a deceptively tidy way to portray something of dizzying complexity. For Zuko, the vast machinery of the royal fortune defied comprehension.

The fiscus, unlike the state treasury, was under the absolute control of the Firelord. It was funded by some public revenue, but most of it came from his family's own estate. It was tied up in dozens of private ventures, but also helped to cover state expenses. If it received through a hundred tributaries, it was also siphoned off in a thousand directions. Until he became Firelord, Zuko had never questioned, or even thought about, the flow of riches that kept him living in the lap of luxury every day. But in these troubled times, it seemed that even the fabulous river of imperial wealth was running dry.

_Azula would have understood_. The thought rose unbidden. Everybody else noticed the fire, but to Zuko, that had always seemed the least of Azula's talents. Her intellectual achievements awed him more, because he understood them less. _She_ didn't have a hard time reading or doing sums. _Her_ tutors raved about her brilliance and swooned at her subtlety. The right words rolled off her tongue at the right moments, in a smooth swell of easy fluency. Problems fell away before her, as she cut through them with razor-sharp logic.

Zuko tried and tried to force the world into a shape that his mind could cope with. Azula never forced anything. She wrapped her mind around the shape of the world, as quickly and easily as others breathed.

She would have understood, and seen a way through this mess.

As if on cue, the Procurator said, "The Princess sometimes found it helpful-"

"Yes, yes." Zuko rose quickly. "I have to be somewhere else right now. We'll talk about this later." Irritated, he flung the scroll back onto the pile. It continued sliding and fell off the edge of the table onto the floor, taking several others scrolls with it. Zuko turned on his heel and left, not stopping to watch as the Procurator scrambled to pick them up.

He started walking to the practice courts, the rising anger making his footfalls quick and sharp. Before he had gone five steps, his attendants caught up and surrounded him. Some of them darted in front, forcing Zuko to check his stride. Now, instead of simply making his way briskly to the practice courts, he was being herded there at a snail's pace.

They probably would have called it a stately procession, or dignified progress. Apparently, the whole damned flock of clucking goose-hens were "necessary to his dignity". The Firelord had had an argument with his own steward about this, and lost. Tadao said that the Firelord must maintain an imposing presence at all times, and a retinue helped . Besides, it was traditional. Firelord _Ozai_ had never objected, nor Azulon before him.

Zuko wondered how dignified and imposing it would be if steam started coming out of his ears.

Tadao also claimed that playing with swords was beneath the Firelord's dignity, but Zuko actually managed to win that debate. He stopped in a small chamber just outside the training grounds. He held out his arms and stifled a sigh, as his swarm of servants rushed to change him into clothing which he hadn't picked out. Zuko didn't even get to dress himself anymore.

When he stepped outside, he stood for a moment with his eyes closed, face turned to the sun, willing Agni's light to soothe his spirit.

It didn't work. All it did was make his chi swell with rising fire and his hands itch for a fight. When he reached into the weapons cabinet for his blades, he threw the door open, then slammed it shut again.

"Right. Let's start."

His sword master had finally, with a wistful smile, admitted that perhaps Zuko needed a younger man for his sparring partner. While the old master stood to the side and offered advice, Zuko fought with one of the palace guards.

It went well, at first. He settled smoothly into the familiar rhythm, his movements mostly routine as he and his opponent felt each other out.

Gradually the tempo changed, became more varied. Each having taken the other man's measure, they both fought in earnest now. For a while it seemed that they might be evenly matched. Zuko was the quicker, but his opponent was stronger and heavier. The weight of his blows sent vibrations through Zuko's arms – when he could land them.

Eventually, however, it became clear that Zuko was the more brilliant swordsman. The guard was beyond competent, but he reacted more than he created. Zuko, on the other hand, made his own opportunities. His every movement set up the next one, so that each flowed seamlessly into the other. His outclassed opponent was constantly compelled to defend, never allowed to attack. An ignorant bystander might have thought that Zuko's speed and reflexes were simply phenomenal. In truth, his advantage lay in skill, not in any physical superiority. If he seemed to counter his opponent effortlessly, it was only because he was dictating the course of the fight.

Zuko would say this for him, the man guarded himself well. His conservative approach didn't gain him any ground, but it kept Zuko from ending the matter. Perhaps Zuko could have slipped past that solid wall of defense, if he had really thought about it. But, for the moment, he was savoring the sheer joy of the fight, reveling in the movement itself, in the speed and clashing of strength.

He pushed faster and harder. Some might have said-

"Reckless!" called his master, from the side.

Soon the tide began to turn. Zuko hadn't finished when he held the advantage; now he was paying the price for his aggression. He was getting tired, too tired for the furious pace he himself had set. The guard came on stronger, clearly having saved his strength while Zuko was wearing himself down.

But Zuko kept on battling, refusing to slow down or withdraw into a defensive holding pattern. His movements become jerky and wild as he struggled for control over fatigued limbs. A discordant note entered the dance.

Finally the inevitable happened, his opponent's sword slipping through to slap at his wrist.

"You dropped your shoulder!" barked the master.

Zuko gritted his teeth. As if he didn't know!

The fight had been mostly silent to this point, punctuated by the occasional grunt. Now he growled and swore under his breath. Despite his exhaustion, and ignoring his master's advice, he bore down harder. The ever-present anger fueled his onslaught. He would take control!

The hard reality of battle betrayed him, though. Predictably, if he had been thinking straight, the other man stepped inside his guard. The blunted sword raked along Zuko's right arm, flung his hand out wide, and tore his own sword from his grip.

If his opponent was inside Zuko's guard, so too was Zuko really close to him, for the first time in the fight. Almost before the soldier had completed his motion, Zuko had stamped down hard on the man's foot and snapped his torso forward, driving his left shoulder into the guard's chest.

This wouldn't have bought him much time, except for the foot planted firmly on the guard's own. When the man twisted back away from the blow, his leg didn't go with him. He cried out, and Zuko knew that his knee had just given under the pressure.

Zuko lifted his foot. The soldier staggered on one leg, thrown off balance by the failure of the other leg to support him. His stunned face made an easy target. Since Zuko couldn't skewer the bastard, he reversed his blade and used the pommel.

The guard fell gracelessly onto his rump, holding his broken nose. Blood streamed down around his fingers. For a moment, Zuko stood over him, enjoying a surge of ugly elation at the sight of his fallen enemy.

Then reality came crashing back, and remorse with it. _Agni_. He could have killed the man. Spirits grant that bone hadn't been pushed back into his brain.

His victim obviously wasn't getting up any time soon, so Zuko crouched down in front of him. "Are you all right?"

The guard – Zuko realized with a pang that he had never asked for his name – looked at him. The bloodied face was completely (carefully?) unreadable.

Zuko felt, more than heard, the heavy, disapproving silence that fell around him. He glanced up, shame twisting through his gut. It was a familiar sensation.

They all wore the same expression as the guard: the blank, wooden expression that inferiors showed to the Firelord when they didn't dare to reveal their true feelings. Over the centuries of imperial rule, men had been killed for less than an honest opinion.

Zuko was getting used to that, too. He glanced at his sword master, who was also hiding his thoughts. But Zuko knew what he was thinking. If Zuko were anyone else, the old master would refuse to train him anymore.

His stunt might have saved his life in a real fight, but it was unpardonable in a sparring match. The broken nose seemed all right, but the soldier's knee might well be ruined for life.

At least the man could leave the field with some dignity. Silently, Zuko extended his hand. The soldier took it after only a second or two of hesitation, and Zuko hauled him to his feet. Two other guards rushed to either side to support their wounded comrade.

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Jin, Sir."

Zuko stared him straight in the eye. "I'm sorry, Jin. What I did was inexcusable. I'm going to have you treated by my own doctors. If the knee is beyond saving, you'll receive an honorable discharge, and full pay for the rest of your life. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Jin's jaw clenched, and he looked away. When he turned back, a gleam of defiance shone in those shuttered eyes. "I want my leg back."

The hush was absolute. Zuko sensed that everyone had stopped breathing. He drew in his own breath sharply. "I understand."

And he did understand. He strode blindly away from the training grounds, not stopping to change. He was only vaguely aware of his retinue arranging itself around him.

A bad leg! The soldier was proud – had to be, or he wouldn't have risen to the elite post of palace guard. Could a life of leisure and free pay, no matter how high, really compensate for what Zuko had stolen? If the knee was wrecked, then Zuko had taken not just his livelihood, but his pride. What man, with any sense of his own worth and dignity, wanted to live as an invalid and a charity case?

And Jin was good with a sword. Damned good! He had the gift. How would Zuko have felt if _he_ couldn't fight anymore?

A door suddenly appeared in front of him. Zuko stopped, his nose barely six inches from the surprising slab of wood. He blinked, realized that his handlers had herded him to his usual lunch rendezvous with Mai. His shoulders relaxed, just a bit. Mai would know what to do. He had to talk to Mai…

But when he walked through the door, the words died on his lips. She looked bored. That was normal, but those who knew her well knew that there were different kinds of bored. Today was the I've-been-waiting-for-you-and-I'm-not-pleased bored. With an uneasy feeling, Zuko realized that she looked uncannily like her grandfather, Hiro.

There was a stack of scrolls at her elbow. One was lying open. She extended a long, pale finger and pointed to a spot on the paper. Some people might have tapped it a few times. Not Mai. The finger stabbed once with finality and stayed there, motionless – like the accusing finger of justice. Even though she wasn't looking at the scroll, Zuko had no doubt that she had unerringly pinpointed the precise spot she intended.

"You've given several tons of gold, silver, and copper to the New Allied Duchies of the Earth Kingdom." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." He could hear the note of defensiveness in his own voice, and hated it. He felt his hackles rise.

"Why?"

"As a gift, to show our goodwill. I offered our services to help them rebuild, but they said they'd rather have the cash."

"I'm sure they did." Ty Lee would have said that Mai's aura had turned black.

"We're in the process of drawing up trade agreements. I'm sure we'll more than make up the loss through tariffs."

"Zuko, when the government collects precious metal, it's called _bullion_. Do you know what we do with bullion?"

He did know, of course, but he was starting to feel stubborn. The muscles in his jaw tightened painfully. "We stockpile it."

"And eventually we melt it down to mint coins. Do you know what we do with those coins?"

"Put them into circulation."

"In a roundabout way. We use them to pay the military."

"So? This is peacetime; we need to take steps to keep the peace. And we're in the process of scaling back the military."

"You're keeping the peace by docking your soldiers' pay? Unpaid soldiers get angry, Zuko. Peace and angry soldiers don't exactly mix."

"Peace and angry Earth Nationals don't exactly mix either."

"True." Mai paused, as if a thought had just occurred to her. "At least _their_ soldiers will be well-paid."

He spoke through stiff lips. "They assured me that that money would be used for rebuilding and relief for the poor."

"That's what they _said_, anyway. You lived with Ozai and Azula for years. Why hasn't it sunk in that there's a difference between what people say and their true intentions?"

He laughed, a short, harsh bark of a laugh with no real humor in it. "No, I'm not cynical and selfish and deceitful, like them. And I don't want to be." Zuko decided to hit where he knew it would hurt. "If you weren't so cold and calculating yourself, you would understand."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. "At least one of us has to do some cold, hard calculation. And you're right, _Azula_ wouldn't have given them that bullion."

"If she's so smart, how did she end up in prison?" As soon as the words left his mouth, his stomach sank.

Mai cocked an eyebrow. "Is she in prison? The last I heard, she had outwitted your feeble security measures and was still at large. Probably laughing at you."

Before he could explode, she placed her hand on the stack of papers and leaned forward. "We're in trouble, Zuko. You asked me to review our military finances and I have. You can say what you want about Ozai and Azula-"

"Can we please stop talking about them!"

"You can say what you want, but they were very smart, and very good at some things. Azula knew how to get what she needed out of people. She could even listen to them, when she had to."

"To real people, or the ones in her head?"

Mai ignored the outburst and dropped her voice, suddenly intense. "We can't go on like this. We need help. I'm trying my best, but I can't even understand half of these documents. There are people whose job it is to deal with these things. We have to trust them. We have to trust somebody."

"Like I trusted Azula? Like she trusted father? Like he trusted…like he trusted me? And don't even get me started on our 'loyal' subjects. Ozai's own men are guarding his prison cell right now."

"We should ask my father. Or even my grandfather. I can talk to him, if you're afraid to. He's the best."

Zuko snorted. "Trust a Bai Jiang? Everyone knows that the only family worse than mine is yours."

Mai rose, stately as a queen and cold as a statue of ice. "I remember blood." It was the ancient motto of her clan. "The Bai Jiangs are loyal to each other, Zuko. At least we know how to be loyal to _someone_."

She left him then. But the conversation stayed in his head as he ate alone, and later as he sat in yet another endless meeting with Earth Kingdom representatives.

He studied the bland, smiling faces opposite. The faces of diplomats and politicians, pliable as wax. They were too smooth and plump for the hard-working and careworn folk that Zuko had met on his travels. _Those_ people had been true and honorable.

_There's a difference between what people say and their true intentions_. Of course he knew it! But how could they build trust and honesty between the nations if no one was willing to start? He had to reach out first. He had to set the example.

_At least_ their _soldiers will be well-paid_.

The meeting was long and fruitless, like most of them. Zuko stumbled away with a throbbing headache and the uncomfortable suspicion that he had promised more than he had been given in return. Had those white-toothed smiles and polished words revealed a sincere desire for peace, or had they veiled hatred and greed? If only he could tell…

_At least_ their _soldiers will be well-paid_.

A servant reminded him that he had to dress for the evening banquet. It would be starting soon.

"It can wait," Zuko snapped. "I still have work to do."

He ordered everyone else out of his office and locked himself in. There was so much to do and so much he didn't understand. And they wanted him to spend all evening at a fancy dinner?

An hour later, scrolls were lying haphazardly over every surface in the room, and one of the delicate lacquered cabinets was cracked where he had thrown a paperweight at it. He closed the door carefully behind him, so the servants wouldn't see the mess.

He waited impatiently while they wrapped him up in all those ridiculous layers of rich cloth that were supposedly necessary for formal occasions. Some fool even tried to put makeup on him. He batted the offending hand away and strode off, forcing the man tying his sleeves to scuttle after him.

He paused for a moment before entering the banqueting hall, placing both hands against the wall and leaning his forehead against it. Gods, he hated this.

Then he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and strode into the room, head held high.

He had disposed with the pretentious fanfare of a grand entrance, doing away with the (irritating) trumpeters and the herald who announced all of his (stupid) names and titles. So he almost made it to his seat before one of the diners noticed him. The man nudged his neighbor, who looked around in confusion, caught sight of the Firelord, and quickly jerked to his feet – knocking over his wine in the process.

So it went, one person after another falling silent and hastily rising, until the entire crowd was facing him. Zuko cringed inwardly at the awkwardness. They bowed in unison. He inclined his head slightly and gave the traditional greeting: "I welcome you to my hearth, friends. As Agni, Lord of Hospitality, Host of Hosts, bestows his bounty of light and warmth, so I offer you mine, by his grace. Please, partake of my table and honor my home, in his name."

He reached down and lifted a small flask of oil. A small amount of oil, then bread, and finally wine would be fed to the small ceremonial brazier at the head of the room. First fruits were Agni's due, and no banquet could be blessed or right if they weren't given.

But, as he poured the oil, he wavered for an instant and – ominously – stumbled over the words of the ritual blessing. _Somebody's already done this_. _The banquet started over an hour ago_.

To stop now would be even more embarrassing than going on, so he finished the sacrifice as if nothing had happened. But his face burned as he took his seat afterwards.

At least he didn't have to talk to anyone. After his first, disastrous formal dinner, he'd had his own table set up on a raised dais. Now he could eat in peace and glorious silence.

His guests bowed to him one last time, then took their own seats. Conversation resumed, but the tasteful flute music in the background couldn't hide the fact that it was hesitant and faltering.

A servant discreetly appeared at his elbow to pour his wine. "Whiskey!" Zuko snapped. "Heng Mountain Special. Just bring the entire bottle."

The man was a testament to the quality of the palace serving staff: he didn't even blink at the Firelord's shockingly cheap and lowbrow request. "Yes, My Lord."

When the whiskey came, Zuko gratefully drained the first glass in a single gulp, and immediately felt the tension ease in his shoulders. _Thank the gods_.

He poured himself another and cradled it as he looked out over his "noble" subjects - all brilliant as peacock-flamingos in their gaudy finery, while war victims starved. Greedy assholes! Selfish, petty, money-grubbing bastards! Everything would be so much easier if it weren't for them, thwarting him at every turn.

Blind! That's what they were. Blind to the big picture, blind to the needs of others. Thinking only of their own status and pleasure. Heads shoved straight up their asses.

Zuko felt the pressure grow in his jaw like some living thing, crawling up to stab at his temples with needle-sharp claws, its heartbeat thumping behind his eyes. Fire Nation aristocrats were all spoiled. That was the problem. Not one of them had ever worked hard. Had ever suffered. Had ever known hunger, humiliation, loss. They were incapable of human sympathy because they didn't live like real humans-

"I think you're scaring Lady Hayashi."

Zuko blinked, and realized that he was looking at Lady Hayashi, who seemed pale. Her eyes darted around nervously, never meeting his own. Her husband, on the other hand, was glaring at Zuko murderously as he patted her hand.

"Can't say I blame her. Most people would get scared if the Firelord stared death at them for ten minutes straight." Cheng sounded amused.

Blast the old buzzard! He was the only man in the Fire Nation who would dare to be amused at the Firelord's expense. Zuko supposed he should feel sorry for frightening Lady Hayashi, but suddenly he'd had enough of feeling sorry for one day.

"I'm the Firelord. I'll stare where I want, how I want, for as long as I want, and Lady Hayashi will have to deal with it. The spirits know I don't want to look at _you_."

"Ha! So rude to a poor, helpless, old man! And here I came to check on you. I could hear your teeth grinding from fifty feet away."

"Just passing the time."

"You could have talked to someone. It is your banquet."

"Teeth grinding is more fun."

"Maybe the whiskey will help?" Cheng looked pointedly at the bottle. "You know, your grandfather and I used to share a glass from time to time. Talked about things."

Zuko took a long sip, never breaking eye contact with Cheng. Then he deliberately topped off his own glass. "Nice cozy chats, huh? Well, there's nothing like a little whiskey when you're plotting genocide or dividing plunder."

"Puppy! Azulon was damned shrewd. You could learn and thing or two from him."

"I don't think those are the kind of lessons I want to learn."

Cheng leveled a grim look at him from under his famously bushy eyebrows. "Azulon was the hardest man I ever met – and that's saying a lot – but that's a hard throne to sit. Maybe your sanctified rump could use a few calluses."

A muscle in Zuko's cheek twitched before he could stop it. "Are you saying that I'm soft? Because I promise you I've survived things that most people never even imagine."

"Are you talking about that scar on your face, boy? If so, you can stuff it. You and I are the lucky ones. Plenty of people lost more in the war than their good looks."

"To their own fathers?"

"Ah. So that's who your blaming for all your cock-ups?"

"Yes! I mean, no! Of course I've made mistakes. Our entire nation has. I'm trying to fix them, but you-"

Cheng wagged a finger at him, as if he were chastising a small child. "Men don't blame others. They're not afraid to take responsibility and they get things done. That's even more true for kings."

"Then you take your own advice," Zuko hissed. "Make up for a lifetime of killing and oppressing and exploiting innocent people, and help me fixing this mess. If you tell the senate to do something, they'll do it."

"_You_ get the senate to do what you want. That's your job. But I'll tell you this: if you want to lead the senate and this nation, you'd better rethink how your treating its people. You act like we're all criminals and you're Agni-Almighty, come to punish us for our sins. By what right?"

Zuko opened his mouth to speak, but Cheng waved him off irritably, like he might a fly, and kept on going.

"You fought in the war, too – on both sides. That doesn't make you anyone's savior; it means that, at some point, you've been a traitor to everyone. Exploiting people? Your family profited from the war more than anyone, and you're still living off the blood money. Your wardrobe costs more than my entire estate."

Cheng had to pause for breath, mid-rant, and Zuko used the opportunity to muscle his way into the conversation. "By what right? Because I know what it is to suffer and struggle. Because I've seen how others have suffered and struggled in this war. Because I've found a better way, and that's what I want for everyone. We will not continue on this path of evil."

"So if it's not your way, it's evil?"

"Someone has to make this nation atone for its crimes. And I'm the only one in a position to do it."

The older man studied Zuko silently for several seconds. "Little jackass," he finally breathed. "You think you're entitled to play god because Ozai exiled you and burned that pretty face of yours. But it wasn't enough. If I were him, I would have tanned your hide every day until you learned some respect."

The fire in a nearby brazier flared up with the heat of Zuko's anger, and a vein in his temple throbbed red-hot.

"Is that all?"

"No. Where's Azula?"

The question was so unexpected that it stunned Zuko into silence for a moment. Then he straightened up so fast that whiskey slopped all over his costly robes. "Why do you ask?" he snapped, only to cringe inwardly a second later. He hadn't meant to betray so much with his voice.

"That one wouldn't have let you do something so stupid – not if she were here to do something about it. Have you locked her away in some hole? Or did you just kill her outright?"

"Neither." Zuko spoke around teeth clenched so tightly that he thought they would break. "I put her where she would be taken care of."

"Dragon dung. Nothing short of the Boiling Rock would hold that one. Maybe not even the Boiling Rock. What have you done to your sister?"

"Why do you care?" Zuko narrowed his eyes. "Plotting a little treason, maybe?"

"I might, if I find out you've hurt your sister. You can always judge a man by how he treats his family. If you abuse your own women, you're no good for anyone else, either."

"And you think _Azula_ is better?"

"The princess is a vicious bitch, not a hypocrite. She didn't try to play saint, because she understood the nature of the job."

"And what would that be?"

"To really understand that, you have to figure it out for yourself. When you do, you and I can both start doing our jobs."

Cheng turned on his heel, military smart, and strode away – leaving an embarrassed and fuming Firelord at his back. Etiquette dictated that he wait to be dismissed by the Firelord, then bow before he leave. He might as well have slapped Zuko in front of all his guests.

At least they hadn't heard the conversation. Although the same couldn't be said for the acrobats wheeling and flipping nearby. They were all scantily clad, their lithe bodies gleaming with gold dust and reflected candle light as they slid sinuously through their routine. Zuko wondered darkly if they were spies, and for whom.

He stumbled back to his bedroom that night feeling tense and unhappy. It was a depressingly familiar feeling. His mind worried sluggishly at the day's problems and events, slowed by sticky tendrils of exhaustion, clinging to his thoughts like briars. Even through the tangle, Zuko knew there was only one possible conclusion.

Failure. From the first meeting to the final, disastrous encounter with Cheng, it had been yet another day of unrelieved failure.

_Agni save me_. _I tried_. _I tried so hard_. He opened the door, suddenly overwhelmed by bleak despair. Then he stopped short. Mai was waiting for him.

She sat at the mirror, her back to him. Two firm, silk-clad buttocks peeped out beneath a glorious sweep of glossy black hair. She was brushing it, parting the lustrous strands with long, even strokes. She paused and looked back at him over one shoulder. Zuko's weariness abruptly fell away, like he had dropped a weight of rocks.

He walked to her, hand outstretched, and reached for the brush. "Here, let me do that for you."

She tossed her head. Smooth, jetty locks bounced and swished with the movement. "I'm still angry at you."

"I'll make up for it." He grabbed at the brush again, only to be swatted. A short tussle ensued, which ended with Zuko in possession of the brush, and Mai pressed firmly into her chair.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, then ran his hands lovingly through the soft, heavy mass of tresses. "How did your day go, other than the part where I made you mad – again?"

Zuko ran the brush through her hair, instantly soothed by the rhythmic catch and drag. Maybe Mai was too, because her shoulders relaxed and she leaned back into him. After about a minute, she began to talk. Zuko gave it half an ear, more interested in the contrast between blue-black hair and white skin.

"Yes."

"'Kay."

"Oh?"

"Huh."

"Mmm…"

"I can see you're enthralled," Mai said dryly. "How about you? What was your day like?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, resting his chin on the top of her head for a moment. How to answer that? Zuko tried to pick through the thorny coil in his head, but couldn't seem to separate the strands, let alone see to the end of them. Finally he decided to talk about injuring the guard, the one thing he understood.

He knew all about rage and stupid mistakes and hurting people.

"You _apologized_?" Mai spun around to face him, obviously appalled.

"Of course."

"Zuko, the Firelord doesn't apologize. Especially when he's wrong."

His soothing cloud of warm, snuggly contentment evaporated almost instantaneously. "Well, what the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Pretend it wasn't an accident. Tell him that his sacrifice wasn't in vain. Convince him that his king is worthy of that sacrifice. Then he could have been proud. He could have told his children and grandchildren that he had been struck down by the mighty lord of fire, Agni incarnate himself. As it is, he has to live with the knowledge that he was ruined by the petty revenge of a spoiled noble brat. And no apology is going to make up for that."

"Spoiled noble brat?" Cheng's accusations flashed through Zuko's thoughts.

"That's how he'll see it."

"I don't understand you. Any of you. My entire life, one person says I have to be one thing, and another says I have to be another. I finally…I finally find myself and learn to be a decent person, and I'm still not good enough even for my girlfriend. If I'm so damned stupid, why the hell are you still here? Is it the power? The money? Or do you just want to make your parents angry?"

Zuko's voice had risen throughout the entire outburst, until he was practically shouting. He saw anger flash through Mai's eyes, but her own rage was always quiet and composed. It was more deadly that way.

Her voice was cold. "You know, for someone who's so determined to apologize to a common soldier, you don't seem to mind insulting me. I've never gotten an apology for any of it." She paused. "Including the time you forgot to get me out of jail."

Zuko dug his palms into his eyes. Would he never cease paying for his mistakes? Guilt and self-loathing reared their ugly heads again, and, as usual, anger came with them. Would people never stop throwing his mistakes in his face?

Mai grabbed his wrist before he could explode. "Zuko, I don't want to argue with you, and I don't want to lecture you. There isn't anything wrong with you. This is about your job. You need to rethink how you're doing it."

"You're telling me that, to do my job, I have to be something I'm not."

"I'm telling you that you have to be more than yourself. The Firelord is just a man, Zuko, but you have to convince people otherwise. The nobles. The armies. The homeland. The colonies. No one person has the power to keep them all in check. The only thing holding them together is an idea. The idea of the Firelord. You have to be that idea."

"And to do that I have to lie?"

"You have to create the truth you want. You're the Firelord. Reality is whatever you say it is."

A small frisson of disgust ran down Zuko's spine. He backed away fractionally. "That's sick. You want me to rule this country based on a perverted fantasy?"

"Don't look at me like that," Mai snapped. She straightened her spine, and her eyes shone steel. "If you don't like what you have to do, that's too bad. This is what you signed up for when you took that crown. Did you think it would be easy?"

"I thought I could lead with decency and honor and integrity. And I will."

"Maybe in a word of saints. But this world is ugly, and it's the ugly that gets things done. Why do you think Azula-"

"Don't talk about her!" Zuko roared, and hurled the hairbrush at the mirror behind Mai. It shattered spectacularly, came flowing down in a flashing waterfall of silver shards.

Long before the last one fell, Mai had pulled a blade from somewhere and pressed it firmly against his balls. Zuko backed away, both from the pressure on his testicles and from the look on Mai's face. He held his hands up, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible.

"Sir," a guard called through the door, "is everything all right?"

"I'm fine," Zuko replied carefully. "Just an accident." If he had said, "I'm fine _soldier_," the man would have known that the Firelord was under duress, and come crashing through the door with his comrades, with the intent to kill whoever else was in the room.

"Do you want us to call a servant?"

"No. They can clean up the mess tomorrow."

Mai twisted the knife a bit, forcing Zuko to stand on his toes. "If you _ever_," she hissed, "try to use violence on me, I will slice off your genitals and feed them to you. Then I will cut the rest of you apart slowly, painfully, piece-by-piece, until you're a quivering, screaming mass of bleeding agony."

Her face was pale with fury. Zuko knew that his was too. "Try it and see what happens." He kept his voice low, so the guards couldn't hear.

She responded in kind. "You think you're going to burn me? I promise you can't do it faster than I can lop your dick off."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? The only time you show emotion is when you're trying to hurt someone."

"Stop pretending you're better than me. You let your emotions hurt everyone around you."

Zuko glanced down expressively. "Oh, and this isn't _your_ emotions hurting _me_?"

Mai rolled her eyes. "You'd be better off with it. You'd finally have to think with your head."

"You'd miss it though." He pictured Mai spread-eagled on his bed and moaning. He leered, so she'd know what he was thinking about.

"Please. You could be replaced by a bit of leather."

Zuko was thrown off balance. "What?"

"There's a shop on River Street just for that."

He blinked. "Really?"

"Yes. Males are redundant."

"That's not what you said last night."

"I was faking it."

"Liar."

Their faces were barely an inch apart now. Zuko was aware of Mai's warm breath on his face, and of the soft swell of her breast, rising and falling so maddeningly close to his own.

"More insults, Zuko? I need to teach you a lesson."

"Do it. Teach me a lesson."

She tried to look annoyed. "Not that kind of lesson."

"Yes."

"No. Stop it."

At some point, her knife had veered away slightly from his genitalia. He took advantage of the oversight to seize both her wrists. He pulled, so she bumped up against him. "Maybe _I_ should teach _you_ a lesson."

She twisted away, putting distance between them.

She looked him in the eye. "Oh, so you want this do you?" She reached up and pulled at a ribbon on her shoulder. The entire confection of gauzy silk immediately fell away, rippling down to pool at her feet.

Mai stood straight and haughty as a queen, even in her nakedness. "Well, take a good look at what you're _not_ getting tonight."

Zuko didn't bother to argue, simply rushed her. He swept her into his arms and kept going until the bed rose up to meet them. He bore them both down onto the soft surface. Mai put up a token defense, so he let her roll him over a few times. He took the opportunity to squeeze her pale flesh and suck at her soft skin.

Somehow or rather, his pants ended up around his ankles and his lips around Mai's nipple. His hand was moving of its own accord, doing unspeakable things between her legs. Mai moaned and bucked and thrashed beneath him.

He drew back for a moment and felt a huge smile split his face. It was such an unusual sensation that it made his face ache.

Not for long, though. He had even better things to do with his face.

"Oh yes, there. Yes!"

"Wait a second, you need to move your leg…"

"Ah…"

"Mmm…"

"Ow, you're pinning my arm."

"Here?"

"No, maybe if you.."

"Aahhh…Yesss…Don't stop…"

"How about this?" _Smack_.

"Mmm…"

"Do you like that? Huh? Do you like spankings?" _Smack_.

"Yes. Oh y-"

"Who's your Firelord?" _Smack_. "Say it. Who's your Firelord?"

"You are."

_Smack_. "Who's your Firelord!?"

"Ah! You are! You are!"

Zuko jumped off the bed. He grabbed Mai's ankle and pulled, intending to drag her into a more convenient position – and straight onto his-

"Ow! Shit!" Pain exploded in his tailbone, as it knocked up hard against the stand next to his bed. He bent over double, clutching at his wounded posterior.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"What is it?" asked Mai. At the same time, a guard called through the door. "Sir, are you all right?"

"Shit. Er, fine." Zuko did a spinning little dance, still folded in half. "Just an accident! Hit my tailbone. Uh, I'm fine, soldier!"

He realized his mistake as soon as he said it, but it was too late. Hearing the code word for "danger," the guards immediately burst through the door and spread out, taking up ready Firebending stances around the naked Firelord and his equally naked girlfriend.

For a long time nobody spoke.

Mai gathered the blankets around her chest.

Zuko stealthily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Right," said the captain of the guard, finally. "All clear, Sir?"

"Uh, yes. All…All clear. Carry on. Please."

The guards spun on their heels and left, leaving Zuko to contemplate the said ruin of his arousal. It was better than looking at Mai and seeing the contempt in her eyes. But she surprised him, as she often did. Zuko heard a strange sound and turned to face her.

Mai was laughing. _Mai_. Laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. Laughing out loud, mouth open, chest-heaving, body rolling. He stared down at his hands, unable to cope with the shame that was shriveling his insides.

"Oh, you fool," Mai gasped. "This is why I love you." His head snapped up. She was holding out her arms to him, tears of mirth still in her eyes – like she was inviting him to share the joke.

"Come back to bed."

He didn't have to be asked twice. Embarrassment already forgotten, he jumped back onto the mattress and snatched Mai up, flinging them both into a giggling, writhing heap of tangled limbs.

They passed the night frolicking with all the heated exuberance that two strong, young bodies could generate between them. In the morning, a grateful Firelord knelt at his lady's feet and kissed her knees in thanks.

By breakfast his joy had dissipated. The Minister of Civil Justice wouldn't even wait for him to finish his coffee before harassing him with a problem. Something about appellate courts. Whatever those were.

"You might want to reconsider certain provisions in the reform bill, My Lord. The Princess once proposed a rather different solution to this matter. It was really quite ingenious."

.o0o.

The old man was seated in a sliver of shade, leaning back against the wall.

A darker shade fell across him as a stranger stepped onto the porch, blocking the sun. "Have you seen a girl come through here?" the stranger asked. "About fifteen, traveling alone. If you did see her, you'll know exactly who I'm talking about."

Tobacco juice dribbled out the corners of the old man's mouth while he considered. He considered the stranger's solid form, his military bearing, his sword and expensive clothing. But mostly he considered the expression on the stranger's face. The famously difficult old curmudgeon wisely decided to be helpful for once.

He spat, careful to keep the dark liquid well away from the gentleman's fine boots. "Dark-haired piece, skinny, legs up to her chin?"

"The very same."

"Not too bright. Ran her mouth at one of the mercs and got hersel' tossed out onto the street."

"How long ago was this?"

"What's it to a high-and-mighty sir like you? That dirty, crazy-eyed drifter weren't no lady." A tongue flicked out slyly at the memory, licking tobacco stained lips. "And she was bruised up good."

The stranger stared down hard at the wrinkled face for a moment or two, then he smiled a smile that was full of teeth. "She's mine. The little bitch ran off, and now I'm going to drag her back by her hair. I paid good money for that one."

"Yeah? That so?" The codger's small, dark eyes gleamed. He made a ribald suggestion. They both laughed.

"Well, how about it? How long ago did my little beauty sashay through here?"

"Just yesterday, it was."

The stranger's smile grew wider. "And did you see which way she went?"


End file.
